


blue dust on my spark

by Eisengrave, selwyn



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Abuse, Gore, M/M, Necrophilia, Power Reversal, Reverse Rape, Torture, Very graphic torture, completely toxic, crazy people, okay there's like everything in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisengrave/pseuds/Eisengrave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: Alternate route for red rust on my spark. Far less wholesome.Pharma gets away with murder. Then he thinks about all the things he didn't get to do before achieving his goal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not for the faint of heart. Read the tags kids, this is some dark shit. We went ham.

The glass came down like a miniature hail fall. As it tinkled and shattered into more pieces around his feet, Tarn slowly lowered his arm as he looked towards Pharma. He was in a little corner, small and pretty, and Tarn shook himself once to get rid of the glass on him before slowly advancing. Glass was ground to powder under his weight as he approached and crouched before Pharma.

Discomfort warred inside him, as if Tarn had consumed tainted energon, but he ignored it as he slowly advanced on Pharma. “My dear doctor,” he murmured as triumph flared in his optics, “what an odd scene I walk upon in.”

His throat itched. Tarn’s face twisted under his mask, but he continued to ignore it. “You did this.”

 

“Are you impressed?”

Pharma foresaw the signs of infection before Tarn could ever feel any of them. It was impossible to walk into a contaminated area as this clinic without contracting what had snuffed every spark save for its Chief Medical Officer.

 

“Only vaguely,” Tarn replied. He reached out to touch Pharma, still gentle for now. “You are -”

He coughed. The action itself was so surprising that Tarn couldn’t stop it. The cough was wet, ragged, even a little painful. Tarn felt something crawl up his intake, something disgusting. Flecks of it stained the inside of his mask, and he paused.

Again, another cough came out of him. The pain was worse. The discomfort was sharp now, jabbing his insides like needles.  _ What…? _

Something gritty, red,  _ filthy _ , dribbled out of his mask’s mouth slit, leaving his glossa feeling as if he’d licked a rusted pole.

 

Pharma’s optics shone with excitement. Yes, yes! There it was. The familiar, thick liquid that all of Tarn’s insides would turn into. It was like receiving the finest jewels, the most beautiful gift; Tarn would die, all before Pharma’s optics to watch and enjoy, to record and delight himself over, time and time again.

“Are you feeling a little under the weather, my dear Tarn?”

 

He would have replied, if he could. Tarn was preoccupied by the liquid sliding down his face, however, and he had the distinct, incredibly uncomfortable experience of tasting the back of his optics. He snarled, even as more of that wet rust escaped his mouth and flooded the inside of his mask. It was disgusting, swallowing back what came up again, and he yanked his mask off to let it out. It splashed on the ground, smelling like sickness, like rust, and Tarn snarled again.

Pharma had done this… somehow. The corpses below - they had all gone through the same. He’d somehow…  _ infected _ him!

Tarn grabbed him around the neck. “You -!” he growled, coughing and choking on rust and rage. “What have you  _ done _ ?!”

 

Pharma wanted to move away, but he had been too slow. At least he managed to wedge an arm between his neck and Tarn’s grip, so the mech couldn’t take him down with him. He’d weaken by the second, with his internals submitting to the disease. He’d never looked more beautiful, especially that fine face that Pharma was seeing for the first time.

“Hush, Tarn,” he smiled, widely, triumphantly, completely calm even in the grasp of this monster. “It won’t be long now.”

 

Tarn wished Pharma lied now, but he couldn’t have. If he were lying, Tarn would not be choking on his own regurgitated internals. If he were lying, he would not be leaking rust from every orifice he had. If he were lying, Tarn would not be dying. He bared his denta, fearsome despite the gore flowing down his scarred face. 

“I’ll kill you,” Tarn growled, and he wrapped his other servo around Pharma’s throat. He meant to crush the main fuel pump there and then tear out his spark chamber, but his grip spasmed, loosened and tightened erratically. Tarn could see the metal bowing under his strength, but it did not break. His strength was flagging, ebbing away with each rattling cough.

Hurting Pharma had been as easy as crumpling paper. Now, it was like trying to crush Overlord’s plating with nothing but his mind.

Impossible.

He fell to one knee as the joint there gave out with a wet pop of rust and weakened metal. His purple paint was marred by long, livid lines of liquid rust that pooled on the floor. The stench was unimaginable. Tarn tried to speak, but he could not as the rust filled his mouth and flowed out his gasping, moving lips.

 

Pharma was able to free himself momentarily as Tarn’s grip faltered, weak and pathetic as was suitable to a mech of his position.

“No, no, I am killing you.”

As he had promised, he would  deliver. Slowly, intimately. In every way he knew how.

 

Tarn never pictured death as this. It felt like an insult to die at Pharma’s servos, who’d been nothing but an idle victim for him. He raged, he snarled, and he hissed, but his infinite anger could not give him the strength to fight off the weakness devouring him. Each passing second was another nail in his coffin as Tarn felt his insides destroy themselves in an orgy of chemicals and misguided nanites.

He fell slowly, watching Pharma’s mad optics observe his downfall. Tarn struggled to reach out to him, but lifting his arm was a herculean task, impossible beyond all doubt.

His vision was growing dim. Soon, Tarn would not be able to see at all. “No,” he gasped, refusing to relent even now, “No…!”

 

Pharma kneeled beside his victim, finding immediate pleasure in his weakness, in the acrid smell of his wasted, liquified insides. Tarn, so mighty, so powerful, was nothing more than scrap at his pedes. Of course, what else could Pharma’s brilliance have fabricated?

It really wouldn’t take much longer. Red Rust acted quickly, and precisely, just as its genius creator intended. 

Crouched down like this, he could look at Tarn’s handsome, cruel face. Beautiful, save for the scar and optics. Pharma cradled it between his hands, watching the last of Tarn’s optic flicker as the mesh behind it disintegrated.

“You look lovely, Tarn. The best you ever have.”

 

He shuddered, tried to stand… and collapsed. Tarn gurgled as he tried to speak and found his mouth overflowing with death. He fell to the ground and was only supported by Pharma’s servos, who held him eagerly as he beheld the destruction of his enemy.

Inside his chest, his spark flashed and struggled under the burden on his systems. Tarn’s body was devouring itself, melting on itself, and all mobility left him as his insides finally dissolved into gritty, rusted soup that leaked out of his armor.

He was still holding onto life, but barely. As he did, Tarn tried to draw upon his last power. With a deep, rattling vent, he tried to speak.

His voice barely dropped one register before more rust surged out of his mouth. The rust reached his throat as well, and the mutated vocalizer began to break down within him.

He would be dead within minutes now. It was only a matter of time.

Pharma wiped away the red rust tenderly, as affectionate and careful as if Tarn was his sparkling, born from his very essence. Cradling Tarn’s helm as death came for him was as sweet as things could be between them

“You never should have given me time and space to think, Tarn. You underestimated me, but you won’t make that mistake again, will you, dear? No, no you won’t.”

Pharma almost wanted it to be slower, so he could enjoy this more. There was so much left for him tell Tarn, but there wasn’t time. He kissed him, on his rust-covered lips, tasting Tarn’s death as he partook in it, the orchestrator of it. 

 

Whatever reply he could have made was lost as Tarn’s systems shuddered to a stop. He stilled slowly with a final ragged vent that rattled with rust. He was still leaking, but it ultimately didn’t matter. His spark weakened as it began to dim, while the rust crept up to his brain module to reduce it to liquid as well.

Pharma succeeded where countless others had not. In his final, mad act, he brought down the nightmare of the Decepticons, the infamous shadow behind Megatron’s act. In his servos, he held his corpse.

Tarn was dead.

The grey was slow to come. It inched up, invading the purple, but surely made its journey up Tarn’s frame. Once he was totally greyed, his spark would snuff out fully.

 

It was too quiet, Tarn’s death. Pharma always saw him as larger than life, monstrous in personality and form. To have him die like this, silently, in Pharma’s arms, it was...disappointing. Too easy. Maybe Pharma shouldn’t have made the Red Rust so efficient.

He looked over the mass of grey metal in his arms, the sprawled, undignified corpse that Tarn was leaving behind. To Pharma, he was still beautiful, in his own, terrible way. Pharma explored his frame, tugged here, unlatched there, and found himself inspecting Tarn as if he’d put him down for a surgery.

Without the bite of possible repercussion, Tarn wasn’t scary. Pharma got up, walked away and cleaned himself off. Delphi was just as quiet as the dead Decepticon, and Pharma waited hopelessly for euphoria to set in.

It never did.

Hours later, he came back to the fully greyed corpse, panel open, face exposed. And was disappointed still. Tarn should have survived the Red Rust. If he was weak and helpless, Pharma could have had his revenge, maybe even put a cute little collar on the big bad Decepticon, and played with Tarn as he’d been played with.

It wasn’t fair, that his death had been so simple. Pharma had mixed together elements in his lab, and killed Tarn with it.

It wouldn’t do. It couldn’t all be over so easily.

He wasn’t done.

He was still charged from earlier. Tarn owed him overload, but he was nothing but a grey heap of slag. It wouldn’t do. The mech needed to fulfill his unmade promises.

Pharma set to work, a new project in mind, Tarn’s corpse the perfect foundation of materials.


	2. Chapter 2

Reanimation wasn’t done in a day. Resurrection was, technically, impossible, unless your name was Optimus Prime and Primus  _ really _ liked you.

Tarn was not Optimus Prime and Primus didn’t like him. Still, he had the next best thing - a highly talented medic without the moral code to stop him. It didn’t mean it was easy, though, given that Tarn had been liquified by Pharma’s ingenious solution to his Decepticon infestation. It meant opening him up and replacing everything that was gone - a tall order, since anyone who could donate spare parts had also been melted down.

Reason and limitations, however, wouldn’t stop Pharma. Tarn was pieced together, slapped into shape through spit, hope, and mad prayer, and given everything he needed to live again.

There was still the issue of the missing spark. Tarn was a One Percenter, a painfully rare phenomenon even in this wide galaxy, and any normal spark wouldn’t be able to support his frame. If he solved that… well, Tarn was one step closer to the mortal plane.

Pharma had time, and resources. He wasn’t surrounded by corpses, he was surrounded by spare parts. He could get very creative when it came to solutions, as the Red Rust had proven.

Reanimating an extinguished spark was supposedly impossible. Impossible, however, wasn’t good enough if you were as mad and brilliant as Pharma. He had the equipment to support a dying spark, and if overloaded, supercharged and concentrated, it might even regenerate enough to power half of Tarn’s frame. It was more than nothing, and Pharma made it happen.

Like a mad doctor in a lightning storm, he pieced Tarn back together, and infused him with a new form of life.

 

For a moment, nothing happened. Tarn was still, silent, dead…

… until he wasn’t.

With a shaking rattle that overtook his entire frame, Tarn’s systems kicked to life. It wasn’t enough, however, until it reached deeper into him. His frame jerked, his biolights flickered, and Tarn, for a brief, incredible moment, almost woke.

He immediately grabbed for Pharma as everything came online, flaring to vicious, proud life - and then fell back as the myriad equipment keeping him alive failed under the stress. Color almost returned to him, but Tarn was dark once more.

 

Pharma was flush with success. He’d done it, he’d conquered another impossible foe. How delightfully smart he was! He couldn’t reach to pat himself on the back, but if he could he would. Instead he clambered on Tarn, checking the areas of grey, comparing where energon had flown and where life had tried to cling.

He’d have to try again, once the equipment was repaired. All in due time, of course. He’d have to replace Tarn’s optics, too, if he wanted a pleasant view upon awakening, and the inhibitor on his vocalizer needed adjustments. But now Pharma knew he could do it.

He leaned over Tarn, languidly kissing his grey lips.

“You’ll be mine, all mine, just wait. You know me, you know I always get it done, no matter the price. You always knew that about me. Wait for it, Tarn. You’ll be sweeter than ever.”

 

-x-

 

It took three more tries to perfect it. Tarn remained stubbornly inert, but Pharma dragged him back to the land of the living through sheer determination. It took a while and it wasn’t perfect, but he had Tarn’s functioning frame on his medical slab in no time.

His optics flickered on, but they were blank. He did not move, even as his systems hummed and his processor whirred. Tarn was alive, yes, but he was still. Without the furious intent, he was curiously smaller, reduced in size and terror.

 

Content was not Pharma’s current state of being. Tarn had come back to life, at his behest, but he was not yet perfect. It took tweaking in his coding to get him to comply to any of Pharma’s transferred signals, and it was still a slow ping back.

“You should be online,” he muttered to himself, prodding at Tarn’s frame. Some parts of it had not been replaced, and his optics were a distinctly different hue of red, but Pharma had cleaned his handsome face up something nice.

“Talk. Move. Something!”

 

Pharma had already accomplished the impossible enough, but his satisfaction would only be found when Tarn came back properly. That was slow-going, as Tarn had to remake all the connections he’d lost during his death and actually form a consciousness.

Prodding him certainly wasn’t useful.

The first sign was a deeper vent that normal. Something like an engine tried to growl, but it sputtered weakly instead. Tarn’s gaze flickered, as if he was trying to focus, and his slack face shifted into the scowl it was usually in.

It wasn’t complete, not until Pharma could rebuild him properly. But for now?

He’d done it. Tarn was dead and now… he was alive.

HIs optics slid to Pharma. For someone who was stuck, recently dead, and still weak, Tarn could muster up a truly fearsome glare when he wanted, wrong shade and all.

 

Not that it intimidated Pharma this time around, because his safeguards made Tarn his lovely puppet and the strings were firmly in his hands.

“Good. So you can hear me. Your audials should be work as well as those new optics of yours.”

 

Tarn glared harder. His mouth moved as he tried to speak, but it was slow and grating. He only managed a halting, “Phhharm...aaa…”

He could hear him fine, unfortunately. Tarn sneered. He would have moved to kill him, if he could, but he remained a prisoner in his frame.

“Pharmaaaa…” static threatened to obscure his words. Tarn’s vocalizer had been one of the unfortunate casualties of Pharma’s rushed reanimation.

 

Pharma giggled, because he could. Tarn was a mere shadow of himself, and that much was evident. He was no threat to Pharma anymore, but he still felt the rage, he understood what Pharma had done.

The medic came close, fingers stroking Tarn lovingly.

“You’re so handsome under that mask! I was surprised, and pleased. Such a lovely face, and you hide it away. That’s one of your greatest mistakes.”

With ease, he clambered up on Tarn’s frame and manually released his panel, fingertips circling where the spike lay unmoved, unpressurized.

“You’ve rested long enough. I know, I know, death is a little exhausting, but bear with me.”

 

“Kiiiill… you…” Tarn grit out, promising vengeance through gaze alone. If looks could kill, Pharma would be beyond even medical miracle.

He chattered on, climbing Tarn like a toy. His servo went somewhere he could not see, however, and Tarn growled. What was happening? What was he doing? If Pharma had replaced him with something, Tarn would tear him a new face…

Sensation was muted, but not so much that Tarn was numb. He realized what Pharma was doing, and scowled harder. “Off…” he growled, “Get… off!”

 

“You were so eager for it before. Don’t worry, everything is functional. I made sure, personally, that this part of you wouldn’t rot away.”

Pharma knew how to handle a spike, even a partially unwilling one, and Tarn’s was at his disposal in moments. It looked a little less severe, without the pulsing biolights, but still good enough to enjoy.

Pharma stroked himself open, slowly, indulging.

“You’re going to be a little less...energetic, I imagine, but I can make it work. I can set the pace.” He was going to frag himself to full indulgence on Tarn, that much was sure.

 

Had Tarn’s mouth been working better, he would have mocked Pharma for being so willing. Now, however, the fact that he was turning the tables on  _ him _ enraged Tarn. He tried to move, but his body was unwilling, still too weak and stiff after his recent death.

Pharma himself was a show on top of Tarn, like shareware who was positively eager to get to work. Any enjoyment he might have gotten out of it was dulled by the triumph in Pharma’s voice, however. Rusted, damaged sensors told him where Pharma’s servo was and what he did, but it felt terribly weak to Tarn. The vividness of sensation that he craved was muted, which only drove him further into anger. So not only did Pharma get to enjoy him, but Tarn was robbed of the same!

“... pathetic…” he muttered, sneering at Pharma rigidly. “Tch.”

 

“Hush up now, you’re nothing but my toy,” Pharma corrected, ignoring the growl, the glare and every sluggish protest. Tarn’s spike was lovely and ready and Pharma had had enough of fragging a cold, unliving piece of Tarn as he had been for a couple of days. This time, he’d feel good again. 

He lowered himself onto the spike with a wanton little moan, optics flickering with delight. Tarn’s spike was, perhaps, the best part of him, and one that was worth bringing the mech back from the dead.

“Hmm, it feels better when you’re glaring at me.”

 

A long, snarling tirade of insults proceeded through Tarn’s mind, even as Pharma rode him. A vision of what he’d do to him once his strength came back to him flashed over his optics. Let's see if Pharma was so eager  _ next  _ time.

But first - how had this happened? He remembered dying very clearly… had he simply fallen unconscious instead? That sounded likely - likelier than coming back to life, at any rate.

He pointedly looked away from Pharma, at the ceiling. Let him have as little enjoyment as possible, the little slag.

 

Pharma looked up from his busy little session of riding Tarn, finding a nice rhythm with which that thick shaft could bump all of his ceiling nodes in just the right way. Only to see Tarn turn his face away. That didn’t please the doctor much at all and he halted his ministrations.

It was time to show Tarn that his basic coding was altered to Pharma’s liking, and the command position of the medic was impossible for him to resist once activated.

“ _ Watch me. _ ”

It wasn’t very different from Pharma’s usual voice, but it didn’t have to be anything special, as long as he keyed in the right frequency. Tarn’s talent had been a vague inspiration for this measure of control.

 

The impulse was as foreign as it was unstoppable. Tarn attempted to resist, but it felt so wrong, so sickening to think of resisting, that his helm wrenched to look up at Pharma within moments after his order.

He’d done something, that must be it. Tarn could think of no other reason why he might have compulsion coding in him. Unless Pharma had developed an unprecedented talent like Tarn had, it was the only way.

“Why?” he challenged, contemptuous. If Pharma could compel him, then Tarn would just have to fight differently. “You are… ugly from this… angle.”

 

Pharma grinned viciously. How petty Tarn could be when he was powerless! It was amusing, to say the least, but it didn’t slow down his frantic rhythm. He’d been waiting for days, weeks to enjoy Tarn’s semi-living frame again and no amount of contempt from Tarn’s lips would keep him from it. He leaned his torso down, almost laying on Tarn now as he frantically continued to drive himself to a quick overload, with no intention of being generous to his reanimated toy.

Once the charge raced over him, Pharma stilled, pleased, wiping a little unintentionally drooled fluid from his lips as he stayed mounted on Tarn.

“Hm, that was better than you were before. Not so cold...I’ll have to heat you up a little more. I imagine I’ll have more resources on your ship to work with.”

 

His optics narrowed. Tarn did not like the sound of that. If Pharma was planning what he thought he was, on top of that compulsion coding… it bode poor omens.

Then he realized what he’d said before that and his lip curled back more. How… awful of him. It would have amused Tarn if he wasn't on the wrong end of it.

He moved a finger. It twitched under his command, so he tried to shift his arm. It barely moved.

“Your work is incomplete,” he frowned.

 

“What makes you say that?” Pharma lifted one elegant leg over Tarn and slid down from his frame and the slab, landing on his pedes with a smug sense of satisfaction about him. He took a small drone and placed it on Tarn’s panel, setting it to clean up the mess that he certainly wouldn’t. Tarn’s frame needed a lot of external maintenance in order not to develop any onset of rust or decay.

“You’re perfect as you are. Alive, after I killed you. This is a miracle of science, of my mind. I’ve beaten death. With ease. I’ve beaten you too, and that wasn’t difficult either. There’s nothing I can’t do.”

 

“Dead?” Tarn scoffed. “You overstate yourself. Resuscitation after a period of unconsciousness is hardly miraculous.”

He wasn't going to believe it without proof, at least. “And to think you were so obsessed with the concept, only to back out at the last minute.”

He needed to get free. He also needed to get full functionality back. This responsibility rested on Pharma’s treacherous shoulders, which was several degrees below bad. Pharma had to be convinced… somehow.

 

“Tarn, you’ve underestimated me before. It didn’t end well for you.” Pharma busied himself with some tools to the side, but ultimately turned back to his toy, who was endlessly more entertaining than the dead clinic surrounding them. 

“I’ll show you proof, since you’re such a critic.” Pharma didn’t ask, he knew exactly where Tarn’s ports were and he jammed his cables in with a little glee. The data packets would certainly present a clearer picture to Tarn than any words he might misunderstand could.

 

He processed the information given to him critically, searching for any hint of fabrication or falsehood. Yet it all looked true. Against all reason, it said that he  _ had  _ died and brought Tarn back to life afterwards.

“Impressive,” he begrudgingly admitted. That was all Pharma would be getting, until the quiet anger simmering in Tarn dulled. “However, I wonder now - why? You were terribly pleased at having felled me.”

 

“I have use for you yet. Aside from your spike, you provide something else I fundamentally need; a way to get off of this wretched planet, quickly.”

Pharma stroked Tarn’s face again, intoxicated by its unexpected quality. Tarn could have made something of himself, if he’d put that mug to use. He might even have had Pharma fall into his palm in servitude if he’d graced him with something more gentle than blackmail and less terrifying than the hideous mask, now discarded among the scrap heaps in Delphi.

“Your ship is fast, I heard. I expect it will be fully furnished with luxuries and treats.”

 

“You fundamentally need my spike?” Tarn was briefly, darkly amused by the thought. Pharma had always been weak-willed like that. If he wanted Tarn to live, he had a position to bargain from.

He had to find the right argument. For now, he could wait and see.

“So you mean to live on my ship, eating and drinking as it pleased you, while warming my berth?” Tarn managed to inject some of his typical smoothness back into his rough speech, though it was hard work. “What stopped you from doing that without the melodramatics?”

 

Pharma leaned over so he could tap his finger on Tarn’s optic, pleased to find it solid as when he’d implanted it. Sometimes, Red Rust left residue that could infect the new matter and it would be a hassle to find another pair of optics. This one was already mismatched, but at least functional. Pharma lost his taste for fragging an optic-less mech the first time he tried it.

“No, no you don’t get it. I’m not warming your berth. It’ll be mine. If you were not dead, you’d be trying to force me to obey you and your stupid Cause. Tch. As if I would ever go so low as to serve a Decepticon. Your Cause is nothing but an excuse for violent idiots to follow a violent idiot with delusions of grandeur. No, Tarn, it will be my berth, my ship, and my treasures. Plus, I need you to dismiss your crew. They can join my clinic staff in retirement.”

 

“Yet  _ low _ enough to frag one, yes?” Tarn added the insult to the Cause as yet another reason to punish Pharma when the opportunity came. He rolled his optics as Pharma continued. “Are you incapable of acting on your own and finishing them off yourself? Or was this a one-time happy accident?”

He would rather not lose his crew in general. But them dying by someone else's hand was a touch better than him killing them, however unwillingly. 

“What after that?” he asked.

 

“Hm. I see you’re trying to goad me into making mistakes, but that won’t happen. The rest of your unit won’t walk into a contaminated building with the sheer arrogance of thinking they wouldn’t be infected, I imagine. And why should I make more work for myself? You will kill them for me. After that? I haven’t decided where, but I am leaving Messatine. Maybe I’ll return to Cybertron, the sole survivor of a brutal attack by the Decepticons. Oh, it was terrible. They unleashed a biomechanical virus on the clinic and the mine! Dreadful monsters.”

Pharma kissed Tarn’s chevron, his physical affections a stark difference to his words.

“And you can be a trophy, a prisoner, or a secret. I’ll decide along the way. I imagine I won’t be questioned, I’ll be celebrated. A hero.”

 

“You don't have the capacity,” Tarn said. “You think they'll accept you? Hardly. You’re poor at pretending to be normal.”

Sooner or later, Pharma was bound to slip. “Besides, the DJD does not use such tactics. Any idiot can tell you that.”

Pharma continued to lay on top of him, touching and stroking him as if they were lovers. It annoyed him, for some reason he could not name. “You're rather bad at planning, aren't you?”

 

“My plan’s worked out so far. The key is in correcting oversights.” Pharma lounged in comfort, though he made note of turning up Tarn’s heating capacity. Right now, he wasn’t the cushy, warm pillow Pharma had envisioned, though he was an endless improvement to being entirely alone.

“No one is going to question whether or not the DJD would do anything. You’re all vile monsters, capable of gruesome and violent crimes. I will have all the proof of it on your ship, in your records. A glance at any of those things would convince anyone that you were deserving of death. No one is going to care how I did it. And your frame...I may have to kill you again, just to get you past any execution. You’re mine and I will keep you that way.”

 

What a troublesome quandary he found himself in. Things were not nearly as interesting when the game was so one-sided. “Will you be content with that?” he asked idly.

“So you defeated me. Oh, but you couldn't be pleased with it, so you revived me. Now you propose to keep me.”

Tarn eyes the mech in much his lap. “You will be bored. You could kill me again, of course, but you will always be bored afterwards. Your life will be as empty as it was before.”

 

“We’ll see about that.” Pharma made himself comfortable, turning around as if Tarn was in fact his berth and existed only to provide him with a surface to lay on. In a way, he did, because Pharma had brought him back to life only to keep him company. Because someone had to appreciate how smart and brilliant Pharma was, and someone had to keep his secrets.

“I heard the war will be over soon. I want to see Cybertron again...don’t you? Maybe you don’t, you’re a dull zealot after all, but I remember when things were good. They’ll go back to it, eventually. They always do. I think  _ you should hold me gently. _ ”

 

Tarn tried to resist again, but the first time was as useless as the second. It was actually painful to move his arms and Tarn’s jaw tightened as they were forced to hold Pharma, gentle in a way that had only existed in Pharma's fantasies before.

“It won't happen,” he said with the certainty of someone who’d been present since day one. “There will be those who will try, but a war of this size will never be forgotten. Besides, you are a nobody now. What you did matters, not what you were before.”

He paused, then decided to prod a hot button of Pharma’s. “Ratchet would have a better time of it, if any Autobot could.”

 

Pharma’s hands curled into fists for a moment, turbine revving angrily at the mention of the mech, but he settled down just seconds later. Ratchet was out there, doing whatever he was doing, and he’d get the due attention befitting of a medic of his status. But Pharma had greater plans than being personal babysitter to a Prime.

“Your attempts at trying to shake my confidence are pretty shallow, Tarn. You don’t know the same people I do, and you don’t know how much everyone despises the DJD. No matter what, I will be congratulated for bringing you in. Dead or alive. What you say won’t matter, I’m going to alter all of your memory banks and your data-core. The evidence will not speak against me, and neither will you.”

 

“You’re banking on an Autobot victory. Judging by how your efforts are going, I would be looking somewhere  _ else _ .”

The idea of having his mind tampered with made Tarn bristle. “You think I care about your  _ evidence _ ? Hardly.”

Tarn continued to hold Pharma. He had not specified how, however, so his touch slid up to hold Pharma’s helm. For a moment, Tarn indulged in a fantasy of violently smashing it against his chest until he no longer had a face. His grip had to remain gentle, though, and it was not as if he could counteract orders anyway.

“This isn’t an attempt to ‘shake your confidence’, as you put it. Who knows you more than me? I simply say things as they are.”

 

“You always layer the meaning too thickly over your words, dear,” Pharma was well aware that their proximity was probably fueling violent thoughts, and he fully relished the absolute control he had over Tarn’s weak frame. Any fraction less of it would spell his end.

“You just don’t seem to understand that nothing you say will make things worse for me. And I’m not just banking on an Autobot victory; I’m convinced of it. Without you and your unit, maybe the rabble will be quicker to run away from the losing side. Who knows, maybe I am making a direct impact on the war by taking away Megatron’s secret police. It doesn’t really matter to me. Once your temperature is back up, you’ll make a lovely berth.”

 

He pictured ripping Pharma’s helm off. A part of Tarn also cringed because Pharma was somewhat right - he could not fulfil his duties like this. He was worse than useless, he was an active  _ problem. _

The problem was beginning to grow. Tarn felt another insult hover on his glossa, but he bit it back. He shuttered his optics instead, and laid back. He wasn't in a mood to verbally spar with Pharma any longer.

 

A quiet berth then. Pharma could allow it, if only because he’d put more safeguards on Tarn’s behavior than any drone could ever handle. Tarn would never be capable of his full strength or of harming Pharma, that had been ensured. Everything else? Entirely possible.


	3. Chapter 3

Pharma’s plan would be put into motion just a few weeks later. He’d been indulgent in fixing Tarn up, bringing the energon efficiency of his frame up to three quarters of his previous life and putting the mech back on his pedes. He couldn’t so much as step outside of the medibay without Pharma’s permission.

And he couldn’t refuse orders given, no matter if they were Pharma’s bizarrely intimate interfacing wishes or trips through the snowy exterior during which Tarn served as Pharma’s vehicle of choice, the medic perched precariously on Tarn’s turret, giggling as the tank’s treads churned through snow.

“ _ Let’s go to your base. _ ”

 

Tarn was beginning to wonder if he pushed Pharma a  _ bit _ too far. Only a bit, since much of what he did made a twilight sort of sense. It was his twisted form of revenge, essentially. He wanted to have power and exercise it over Tarn, whether it involved kissing him as they ‘faced or making Tarn do menial labor as he watched.

He still appreciated being able to move again. His frame was still… not quite what it used to be and the occasional spurt of red rust came from him. There was still marginal pain when he moved, but it wasn’t as bad as before. He would almost be normal, if one glaring thing didn’t make itself known.

His spark was faint. Sometimes, it wasn’t enough to support him and Tarn shut down at inopportune times. He found he could occasionally manipulate the timing of these shutdowns by deliberately overtaxing his systems. Falling inert on Pharma during a ‘face was mildly amusing, if only because the medic was  _ deeply _ cross afterwards. Doing it too often was a bad idea, however, and painful on top. Tarn spoke little and moved minimally, only emerging when a good moment to insult Pharma came up. He was less vibrant than before, thanks to his permanently weakened state.

It made him wonder if he could  _ actually _ kill his unit, when it came down to it.

“Hm.” Tarn drove through the snow, navigating easily as he wondered. He almost hoped otherwise, if only to watch Pharma’s surprise when he learned that Tarn wasn’t effective when he was  _ crippled _ . The ship was coming closer.

He’d tried his best to talk out of it, or find a way out. It hadn’t worked.

Tarn was a little put off and genuinely displeased. If things went how Pharma wanted, loyal Decepticons would be dead. He wasn’t terribly  _ close  _ to them by any rate, but they had been his comrades and subordinates, and Tarn could appreciate the company they offered. Now, they would be dead.

 

Physically, Tarn wasn’t going to be a match for his former unit. Pharma had calculated with that and every time Tarn fell down, powerless, the medic took note of his readings and made tiny adjustments. As it stood, Tarn needed to be recharged about four times as often as a regular mech, and that was a bit of a hassle, but for what he could do with his minimal spark, it was miraculous.

But his frame wasn’t the only weapon Tarn had. Faint and weak, his spark was still the one that had flared in full green glory in his chestplate before. It was still an outlier spark, and it still retained his abilities. Not that Tarn could feel or hear that, though. Pharma worked particularly hard on that prospect. 

“It is about time we leave this planet, my dear. So let us clean up your horrible little crew, shall we?”

 

He offered a noncommittal grunt in response. The ship drew closer and Tarn stopped outside. There were no holes to drop him down, unfortunately, so he merely got to get off Tarn while he transformed.

Well. So it would happen. Tarn wondered how he was going to explain this to his lord next time, after he threw off Pharma’s yoke.

_ “My lord, due to some unforeseen issues, everyone is dead. Again.” _

_ “How?” _

_ “I killed them. Again.” _

Ah, that was not going to be a fun conversation. Tarn tried another attempt at resistance, which predictably failed.

At least he looked the part - no amount of polishing and cleaning could remove the dull cast in Tarn’s plating, or the strange jerkiness of his movements. Something  _ was _ wrong with him, though he doubted his unit would have time to figure that out before they all died.

The boarding ramp lowered for him. Tarn eyed it before glancing at Pharma. “We’re here. Go on.”

“First? Not at all. After you. It’s your ship, still.”

Pharma was NOT going to walk into a Decepticon vessel without an appropriately large mech-shield in front of him. Tarn was suited to his task, and Pharma’s weapon to wield. It was...nerve-wracking to enter the ship. In here, at least four Decepticons of nightmarish abilities would be waiting, and they wouldn’t take long to surmise that something was very wrong with their leader. But perhaps, Tarn could deceive them.

“If you make them obey you, I might even let them live. But you will  _ not tell them what happened to you. Be convincing. _ ”

 

He twitched in anger, but no attempt to harm Pharma ever worked. He was safe.

For now.

Tarn trudged onto the ship, sullen and wary, and reached for the intercom. No one came to greet him, as that wasn’t their way.

“Tarn, returning,” he growled into the comm, “team meeting in the… common.” His voice fuzzed for a moment, growing raspy and staticky before returning to normal. “Concerning… new changes.”

Done. His comms hadn’t been working for days, so they couldn’t speak to him. If this wasn’t enough to alert his team, they deserved to die for being so thick.

He turned back to Pharma, and jerked his helm. “Follow,” he said, and walked further in. The ramp would close automatically after him, so Pharma better move quick.

He deliberately dragged his pedes, taking his time to get in, putting together what he could say. He considered trying to convince them to stand down, and doubted Pharma would allow it for long. His unit would know Tarn wasn’t in his right mind. Then, they would either attempt to kill him or Pharma, at which point Tarn would be forced to retaliate. Or, Pharma would simply put them under his sway as well.

With an ominous  _ thunk _ , all the lights on the ship turned off. Only the emergency red lights illuminated the way periodically. Tarn, dulled, ghoulish, and grim, stood out like a nightmare.

 

Pharma didn’t much appreciate surprises, and whatever this was didn’t bode well. He darted close to Tarn instantly, seeking protection from his murderous toy-turned-slave. 

“What’s going on?” he hissed, because Tarn probably knew what was happening and keeping it from him for as long as he could. If Pharma forced him, he’d get the truth.

 

“The lights are gone,” he said, “it happens.”

Maybe it was his long absence. Maybe it was the cameras at the front of the ship that saw Tarn coming. Maybe it was his voice, flat and awkward, prone to static. Maybe - just maybe - they had tacked onto  _ something _ being wrong.

They would be assembling somewhere. Preparing for a fight, assuming the worst, ready to kill their commander if need be. Tarn had already died once, and he could only approve now.

On a whim, he reached out to hold Pharma under his arm. Bending over was mildly painful, but Tarn ignored it as he kissed Pharma. “Follow me,” he said, and his optics, wrongly shaped and wrongly shaded since they’d been ruined, told the truth of the coldness behind the affection.

 

Pharma took it as a good sign that Tarn’s first instinct was to comfort him and he nodded, following Tarn along. Whatever was coming, all he had to do was use his mouth, quickly, to command Tarn and he’d be safe. Pharma could talk his way out of anything, and this was going to be the stress-test of his brilliant creation.

“Whatever happens, you  _ will  _ protect me.”

 

“Of course.” Tarn used the opportunity to scoop Pharma up into his arms, so he could not hide behind him anymore. “You are  _ safe _ with me.”

How would he die? Electric shock? Sniping? Tarn hoped he might see Pharma lowered into Tesarus before he was killed -  _ that _ would be interesting. Through the darkness, they walked. The red lights lit them both up eerily, while Tarn made a frightful amount of noise that echoed through the dark halls. Some noises not from him came through, but Tarn did not address them.

The common was in the center of the ship. Tarn scraped his pedes until sparks flew under them and sighed. “We’re here,” he announced, static covering half his words. “Ready?”

The door to the common opened and they were greeted by Vos’ long barrel pointed at them.

 

Pharma was out of Tarn’s arms and behind him so fast there was no moment to fire on him, simply because the doctor had become quite good at diving behind things, fast.

Clearly, the unit was more suspicious than he believed. And Tarn’s heavy pedefalls...he’d done it on purpose. There must have been cameras, watching their approach. Pharma ground his teeth and hissed at Tarn’s back.

“You warned them. That was your last mistake, Tarn. I won’t tolerate another.  _ Subdue them before they hurt me. _ ”

 

Tarn grunted as a round hit him in the chest. It was not enough to penetrate his chest armor, where it was thickest, but it stung like a  _ glitch _ . Everyone else was moving, and so was Tarn as Pharma’s order echoed in his mind. 

The crash of Tarn meeting Tesarus halfway was titanic. Tarn was, objectively speaking, lighter and smaller than Tesarus. However, he was far more agile than the top-heavy mech. Tarn thrust his arm through his grinder, ignoring the whine as it began to wound up, and grabbed the opposite end to throw him off. He wasn’t alone, however, and Helex was on him within moments.

At his peak, Tarn could have simply used his voice to destroy them within a second. If not that, then he would have crushed their helms without prolonging the physical fight. Tarn was faster than both Helex and Tesarus, stronger than Kaon or Vos, and armored enough that it he could take a hit from Overlord and walk away in a bad mood. Now?

Now, he dragged. He left his back and flank open. He took electric shocks and sniper rounds. Tarn wasn’t doing it all deliberately - no, he was just  _ weaker _ . As it looked like a good rhythm for boxing him was found, Kaon began to search for the second mech that’d been sighted. He was an electric lightshow in the dark room, frightful amid the flashes of white lightning from his shoulders.

 

Pharma could watch it all play out from his high perch, namely, him flying near the ceiling and hovering in anxious anticipation. Tarn wasn’t dominating the fight, and they all looked to be holding him down rather than tear him apart. It wasn’t one-sided, and it worried Pharma. He couldn’t lose Tarn here and now, and he couldn’t just run away. If he did, he was stuck on Messatine forever. He just couldn’t risk it.

He saw the creepy, optic-less mech look for him, obvious in the way he felt for the edges of the room with his field, flashing with static. Oh no, no, he was NOT going to be killed by the DJD.

“Tarn!” his voice came out a shriek, but it was clear and loud enough to cut through the clang of metal.

“ _ Use your voice and subdue these horrible monsters.” _

 

What voice? He had no power left, it’d gone with his death -

“ **Stand down** .” It came out of him easily, and Tarn almost gagged on the words in his surprise. His power… it was still there. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t draw on it, but it was  _ there _ . “ **Kneel** !”

There was no refusing his power. Everyone fell to their knees, regardless of what they were doing, as training and conditioning kicked in. Their sparks quivered under his power, while Tarn struggled to call it up to kill Pharma.

It did not come. He ground his denta together as he picked himself up and made his way over to the mech. So he’d stolen Tarn’s power from him, too. What else could he possibly take, now? “ **Stay** ,” Tarn growled, to ensure his unit remained still.

“You knew,” he accused Pharma, as soon as he drew close enough. “You  _ knew _ .”

 

“Of course I did.” Pharma came down and transformed, elegantly, appreciating the view of the DJD, completely under the control of that charming talent he once despised. He caressed Tarn, again, for a job well done, even if he seemed to be brimming with anger.

“Do you really think I would be capable of killing you, reviving you, and somehow not restore what marvelous talent your spark has? Tarn, I told you not to underestimate me.”

Pharma practically pranced past the tankformer and towards the DJD. He kept a pace away, of course, but inspection needed to happen before he had them killed.

“Hm, so which one needs to go first? I don’t like this creepy one without optics...maybe we should put you in that smelter, yes? Or maybe that skinny one. I could use a few parts from that barrel, maybe, but only if I can grind them to a good, clean powder. This is going to be a creative session, I can tell.”

 

“Are you going to kill them?” Tarn asked idly, watching Pharma bounce around the room as if he’d been the one to subdue them. He made note to test his own power some other time, just to see what its threshold was. If it was yet another thing he could only do ay Pharma’s behest… he was going to be displeased. Again.

He reached to plant a servo on Pharma to keep him still. It was irritating, watching him run around like that.

“Tarn,” Kaon gasped from where he was on the floor. To his credit, he did not get up. The threat of Tarn’s voice was still too great. “What’s going on?”

“... more than you know,” Tarn said, voice halting. He tried to explain this wasn’t his will, but his glossa seemed to become insensate when the thought came to mind.

 

Pharma stilled, if only to watch the unit suffer under what they must feel was betrayal, and a vicious sense of satisfaction washed over him. This was just like when First Aid and Ambulon realized who had masterminded their destruction and threw accusations his way as they lay in the throes of death.

Tarn should feel privileged that he was allowed this experience.

“Tell them, Tarn, I give you permission. They’ll all be dead soon anyway, since none of them can be trusted. Tell them, love.”

 

“ _ Love _ ?” Kaon said, incredulous, “Tarn, you -!”

“ **No** ,” he snapped, glaring at Pharma as he did. “The truth of the matter is that I’ve been seeded with compulsion coding. This was not my will.”

His grip on Pharma turned tight. Not painful, never painful, but Tarn tried to take advantage when he could. “Kaon, send the code.”

His glossa became numb. It wasn’t a direct disobedience, however, so he pushed past the pain. “The DJD has been compromised.”

“Sent,” came the quiet, affirmative whisper. Everyone else was quiet, as they began to realize what’d happened.

Tarn forged on ahead. “Good. Now…  **your service has ended. Farewell** .”

They’d die quickly, painlessly. Tarn could do that, though he rarely did. It was the least of what he could give them. No one else had outlier sparks, so no explosions came as their sparks followed his voice into oblivion. There were four thumps as they fell aside, dead before his final word was completed.

Better this than be thralls or experiments for Pharma. Tarn drew Pharma closer. “Dead and subdued,” he reported, and added a smug, “ _ love _ .”

 

Oh, Tarn. Pharma watched the four members of the division drop down, sparks extinguished, painlessly eliminated by their leader. It was a mercy killing, to spare them any pain they might experience at Pharma’s servos. He cared enough for them, still, even in his current state, that he spared them. Which meant that he could still be hurt further.

Tarn also seemed to have forgotten how he had come into Pharma’s service in the first place. He turned around in the arms of his toy, a knowing smile on his face. It delighted him to know that Tarn was still trying to play games with him, even though he was hopelessly outclassed by Pharma by now.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you, love? What makes you think that I won’t simply reanimate them too, with the appropriate coding? You think you’ve spared them? Oh, Tarn, you’re beautifully naive if that’s the case. I think it’s time I set my sights on something...bigger than the DJD. Bigger than a mere return home.”

Pharma’s grin was mad, his optics burned with fervor and power, “I could end the war, all by myself. Megatron can’t be that hard to track down.”

 

Tarn knelt to one knee, holding Pharma as he did, and met optics with him. “I know you can,” he said evenly, “which is why I’m going to ask that you don’t.”

Could Pharma reanimate those who’ve been dead for a long time? Tarn didn’t know and didn’t relish finding out. Not with his unit, anyway. Pharma was back in the grips of his megalomania again, picturing grand plans for himself now that he’d been successful with this step. Tarn had to… ease it, a little.

He nuzzled Pharma a bit, then said, “I have been thinking, these past few weeks. Talk with me a little. If not, you can go ahead. A little time won’t be a hindrance if you decide to revive them.”

Tarn had learned quite a bit of Pharma’s preferences over their time together, moreso than before, as Pharma had to order him to do what he desired. A kiss, a gentle touch, it was those things that Pharma liked. 

 

Affections that he didn’t have to force Tarn to perform were a potent tool of persuasion for Pharma. He enjoyed the unbidden touches, even if they weren’t connected to anything more genuine than Tarn’s current, second life.

“You want to talk? Why? You were angry a moment ago, about your voice.” Pharma looked back at the corpses with vague longing. Those looked like potent sources of material to him.

 

“You’re surprised? Of course I would be - I thought I lost it, and you did nothing to sway me from the idea.” Tarn kissed Pharma’s neck and petted his turbine, remembering the countless and many strange orders for intimacy that’d come his way. Pharma had a fragged-up mind, but he was the sweetest, neediest thing in the berth. He  _ liked _ being treated sweetly.

Tarn could do sweet, even if it went against his nature.

“But now? Now, I know.” Tarn could be sweeter than anything Pharma ordered him into. The intimacy forced out of him was always wooden, always false enough that it was obviously artificial. But this? Tarn was  _ charming _ when he wanted. His servos lingered more hotly, his kisses were sweeter, even his words - damaged and raspy as they were - flowed smoother.

“I’ve had much time to think. Much time to consider my options and consider what  _ we _ are. Let’s talk, Pharma. Besides - you’ve hardly seen my ship.”

 

Hm. It was clear Tarn was up to something, making a new move on a new board, but Pharma was sorely tempted to allow it. Mostly because he was completely starved for affection, especially if it came in any genuine capacity. His isolation had done more harm to his mind than the pressure Tarn had applied, long ago, over some t-cogs.

The kisses were sweet little treats that filled Pharma with a craving and a new idea, one that was impatient before the possibility of its immediate satisfaction.

“What  _ we _ are, Tarn? I tremble with anticipation to hear your thoughts, truly, but I need you to do something for me first. Something pleasant.”

Pharma glanced away from the corpses and back to Tarn, charge and lust heavy in his gaze, “Take me to the bridge of your ship, kneel to me before your command chair, and tend to my needs. Then, if you do well, we can talk.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Tarn wanted to argue for a different outcome, but took his victories where he could get them. Pharma wanted to be pampered? Fine.

They could’ve been in a romance holo by the way Tarn swept Pharma up, if one ignored the darkness and red lights, corpses, and the fact that Tarn still looked a horror. Kisses were showered on him and Tarn teased his panel with a servo while they walked. At least he could get the lights back on from the bridge, which would be vast improvement over the dark corridors.

Pharma was having his neck thoroughly ravaged by Tarn by the time they got onto the bridge. He took a circling route to find the light switch, while keying his command codes in to have control over his ship again. He deposited Pharma in his command chair shortly after, though he was dwarfed by the massive throne-like structure.

 

It suited Pharma just fine, to be the star of attention. Even if the rest of the universe was dead, Tarn should always be looking at him and him alone. Pharma would consider making it so. Wouldn’t that be peaceful? But galactic extinction of his species was not a target in his sights just yet. There were more important matters behind his panel to tend to and Pharma sprawled his legs, obscenely, over the chair fitted for Tarn’s frame.

“If you make me happy, I might give you back a little more power, love.”

 

Tarn would keep that in mind. That, any many more things. Now, he knelt before Pharma and took his time. He wanted to be pleasured, he wanted to be treated like royalty and beyond. He wanted to be loved.

For someone who had so much control, Pharma could also be a little revealing.

Tarn pushed his legs apart and kissed the inside of his thighs, wondering if it might be worth to talk now. He teased Pharma, actually worked on him as if he wanted him to have a good time.

Him, just killed his unit? It would never show on his face.

“I imagined bringing you here, sometimes,” he said, drawing Pharma’s legs over his shoulders. “Funny how things work out.”

He wouldn’t go for his valve yet. Pharma wanted to be pleased? Tarn could oblige.

He licked a lazy line up the sides of his panel, idly wondering if he could bargain for his power back under the guise of pleasing Pharma. That was a thought for later, one worth considering.

 

For now, Tarn was heading in the right direction. He was right in his assumption; Pharma did want to be pleased and worshipped, treated as if he was someone’s beloved. Tarn could serve that purpose, even if he was forced to do it, because he’d been unfortunate enough to break the wrong mech when he came to Messatine. He’d had no idea what lurked beneath Pharma’s delicate sanity. 

“I don’t imagine you pictured it like this. You probably wanted me in your position, serving you as a pet.”

 

“You  _ would  _ look fetching on your knees,” Tarn agreed. “But you're not quite right. I pictured you branded.”

Tarn kissed his panel, then nuzzled it. “A subordinate… an equal… who knows?”

 

“Never,” Pharma vented deeply, keeping his panel just barely closed. It was ready to open, and he was fully ready to receive the full spectrum of Tarn’s skill when it came to pleasing him.

“You and I were never equals. You just deceived yourself with such petty things as brands. I’m above such foolish things now.”

Pharma’s hands landed on Tarn’s helm as his panel revealed a dripping valve. Seeing Tarn serve him obediently had certainly loosened his lubricant production.

 

In a different life, Tarn might have fully enjoyed himself without thinking about what this meant in the grander scope of things. Pharma did have a pretty valve and he still desired him - however muted that might have become thanks to recent events - and he didn't mind  _ too  _ much what he was about to do.

For someone who claimed mastery, Pharma was sweet under his lips. He could do a lot worse than ask for his mouth, something Tarn was abstractly grateful for. He was tender as he pleased Pharma, always kissing him, sucking and holding him as if he were his lover.

He certainly wouldn't complain about not being treated sweetly enough.

 

Tarn’s silence was answer enough and Pharma settled his gaze elsewhere, keeping his hands on the tankformer’s helm so he’d stay close and perform his duty. Tarn was skilled with his mouth, and maybe that was one of the reasons Pharma had chosen to reanimate him in the first place. He was perfect to play the role of Pharma’s devoted lover. He was strong of course, and could be utilized as a weapon, but the priority, for Pharma, was right here between his legs.

“You can be so well-behaved...it tempts me to let you have a little more leash.”

 

He was tempted to say more but Tarn decided that letting Pharma ramble to himself would do… for now. Pharma was making a fine mess of his chair, leaking and moaning as Tarn touched him with more attention than any time before.

Still, he wanted him to be utterly convinced that he could not lose Tarn. A lick gave him a taste of him, before Tarn descended on his anterior node. He sucked it while his servo crept closer to stretch Pharma open. Tarn wanted his overload out of this too, and perhaps giving Pharma a taste for more would be the way 

Pharma ran hotly. Tarn encouraged it, listening to him and holding him down when it seemed like he might thrash.

 

It was an excellent demonstration of his dedication. Pharma could appreciate every nuance of Tarn’s actions, could feel every slip of the glossa and tease of his lips. It was exactly the slow, maddening method of a successful lover and Pharma moaned generously, valve open lewdly, spike pressurized and lonely.

“Here too,” he mumbled, one hand slipping off to fondle himself.

 

Tarn paused and looked at him. His face grew sour for a second before Tarn begrudgingly  obliged. His lips wrapped around Pharma’s spike and Tarn thanked every god that might exist that Pharma was not a difficult lover. He swallowed him down while his glossa flattened under his length, and Tarn bit down on his pride as he did so.

Pride didn't matter after he'd died once already. Tarn sucked and ignored the snarl of anger in his chest.

 

Pharma rewarded him with a throaty moan. He didn’t make use of his spike often, but when he did, he preferred that it was stuck in someone’s mouth, with a hot glossa rubbing him to bliss. Tarn was doing well so far, not even glaring up as he obeyed. Pharma would have ignored him anyway.

He was well charged and ready to overload at a moment’s notice under Tarn’s lovely ministrations. This was how things should be, he decided. Maybe he would give Tarn a little rope so that he could expand on this behavior, but that was the only acceptable application of any type of freedom.

 

Tarn barely suppressed the urge to hurt Pharma badly as his helm bobbed. He was the picture of obedience, however, despite the many unkind things that went through his helm. He hoped Pharma overloaded soon, simply so Tarn could be done with this.

He added a particularly vicious suck to push Pharma closer to the edge. Pits knew Tarn’s patience was not eternal.

 

Pharma did him the favour of overloading, but he was not kind enough to warn him of it happening. Transfluid decorated Tarn’s face and it was a beautiful sight. Pharma smiled indulgently after his vocal bliss had died down, the charge lancing through him an added tribute to his triumph.

“Good mech. Stay on your knees.”

 

Tarn could have bitten Pharma in half for such insolence, but he managed to remain passive. With one servo, he wiped himself clean contemptuously. Stay on his knees, hm?

In retaliation, Tarn pulled Pharma closer and sealed his lips around his anterior node again.  Let him have everything he wanted, whether it was wanted or not. He sucked on it, holding Pharma close.

 

It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Pharma hummed in appreciation, fingers back on Tarn’s helm to caress and reward him for his dedication.

“Oh, you are eager, are you not?” 

Pharma could work with that. He was still riding one dizzying high from his last overload, and it would only be reinforced by the next.

 

He had never been this chatty when Tarn had still been alive. It must have been for the good, if only because only Pharma could manage to make post-overload moans sound smug. His servos were back again, stroking his helm as if he were a pet.

His list of his crimes was getting longer by the hour. Eventually, even Tarn would not be able to remember it all.

The charge from Pharma distracted him from his dark thoughts. Tarn shifted uncomfortably as his array made itself known. 

 

The sound of an array panel sliding back was too quiet for Pharma to hear and his gaze was distant. If Tarn wanted to partake a little more proactively in this situation, he’d have to verbally get Pharma’s permission, because the jet was entirely focused on his own pleasure. Tarn existed only on his periphery, even though he was the provider of said pleasure.

 

Tarn would sooner jump into Helex’s smelter face first before he asked for permission to self-service. Besides, Pharma didn’t look like much was going on in his helm at the moment. He wrapped a servo around his spike and squeezed, getting a feel for doing two things while not forgetting either.

At last, he settled on a pace. It was rough enough to please him and Tarn sighed as he felt charge build up. This was a pleasant change to before, back when he felt little and ‘facing became something to endure, not enjoy.

 

Tarn’s sigh might be his undoing, because it focused Pharma’s attention on him earlier than he might have liked.

A sneer danced over the medic’s face as he processed what was happening right here, before him.

“My, my, Tarn, are you so heated from serving me so sweetly? That’s quite the charge you’re building, without my permission.  _ I want you to stop. _ ”

 

_ Don't you even dare _ , Tarn thought as his servo stopped. His temper flared as he was denied, leaving him wanting and unable to do anything about it. The sheer  _ gall _ of Pharma, to make him do this… his denta ground together.

Given a fraction of power, Pharma was drunk on it. Tarn could have made a snide comment about it if he wasn't currently wrestling down anger. He dealt with denial poorly and if the promise of retribution wasn't so great, he would have stopped right then and there.

Of all times for Pharma to decide he preferred his mouth over his spike! He ached for some kind of gratification, but his servo could not move for that purpose. Tarn let go and discomfort warred with anger.

 

The victories just kept coming. Pharma looked down and saw putrid rage on Tarn’s face, and he couldn’t even blame the mech for it. Now, he could have kept him there. He could force Tarn to service him and leave him in a denied state for the rest of the week, if he wanted to. Or, he could be kind. He could have his pet/lover/slave ram into him and chase his high.

Pharma chose neither, because playing with Tarn was his favored pastime now.

He stood, panel level with Tarn’s face as he pressed the mech’s helm back to his valve.

“I can taste your charge...I can feel your anger. It’s wonderful, Tarn. Just like that.  _ Stay like that until I say otherwise. _ ”

 

What else could he do but obey? Resistance wasn't possible. Tarn seethed, snarled, and tensed, but he was obedient.

This was akin to a test, as if Pharma wanted to see how far hed need to go until Tarn’s temper snapped, or he obeyed.

 

For a long few minutes, Pharma indulged himself, rubbed against Tarn, moaned extra loudly and lewdly for the mech’s frustration, but soon, he grew impatient again. And ever more devious.

“ _ Sit in the chair. _ ”

He’d entertain himself to the fullest, denying Tarn even the basic dignity of determining his own overload.

 

Sit in the chair? What purpose would that serve? Knowing Pharma, it would be another supremely temper-testing endeavor. Tarn wiped the lubricant on his chin off distastefully and eyed him balefully as he obeyed. Perhaps this was a lead-up to Pharma getting on his spike. Or, more likely, Pharma had found a new method with which to lord his power over Tarn over his helm.

His servo twitched to his spike, but the order remained stuck in his helm. Tarn glared, frustration evident in his tight jaw. He could speak up, tell Pharma to cease his theatrics, but that would be admitting defeat. 

 

Once Tarn was seated, Pharma could get to work on his plan. He mounted the tankformer’s lap, briefly letting his servo slide over that thick, lovely spike, before ignoring it completely. His valve was still soaking from Tarn’s gracious efforts and Pharma found himself rutting a little over his array, before his fingers explored a tightly sealed panel. 

“ _ Open.” _

He commanded, fully expectant to feel Tarn comply and reveal his valve.

 

Tarn’s hopes briefly rose as Pharma clambered into his lap, then toppled down as he realized what he meant. He recoiled - not in horror, but in a fresh wave of anger. The  _ audacity  _ of him, to demand this! He would have swatted Pharma off his lap entirely if he could, but instead sat in mute, impotent rage as his frame obeyed what his mind howled against.

Tarn only offered himself to his lord. Any other time, his valve remained unused and ignored. That was how things were, up until now.

The panel flicked back and Tarn raised a servo to throttle Pharma before the lance of pain the thought sent through him made him freeze. His servo dropped.

 

Tarn’s valve was unexpectedly plain, black, velvety, and fairly underused. Even though the tankformer’s entire frame had undergone death, there was still a certain look to a valve that didn’t see regular lubricant or exercise. 

Pharma was delighted.

“This looks painfully abandoned, Tarn,” he purred, shuffling back until his frame hit Tarn’s kneeguards as he inspected the valve before him. His fingers slid over the lining, traced the slit, teased at the node. From the way Tarn’s frame was jerking, he was entirely too sensitive here. How unexpectedly cavalier of a mech like this!

“You don’t take much spiking, hm? I can fix that. Don’t worry, Tarn, you’re in the best hands.”

 

Realizing what Pharma meant to do, Tarn bristled and bared his denta. “You…!” A dozen biting insults lined up in his mind, but again, Tarn swallowed them back. He dearly desired to hurt Pharma, to strip him of his undeserved pride, to force him back down to the grovelling creature he truly was, but the compulsion coding that poisoned his frame bent Tarn’s will to Pharma’s command. He pressed back against the back of the command chair, as if to pull away from Pharma, and endured the slim fingers dancing through his valve.

He bit his glossa to make no sounds. The twitches of his frame were the smaller, slip-ups of his repressed shudders, and he stared through Pharma, looking at him but not focusing. His face was a curious mixture of emotion - anger and humiliation drew his mouth into a harsh scowl, while pleasure, unwanted as it was, made his jaw jump. 

Charge crackled down his front. Heat slipped out of his vents. Tarn’s frame betrayed him at this crucial juncture and responded, lubricating and heating at Pharma’s touch.

 

It was deeply unexpected. Pharma was pleased with himself and decided that he’d make this so good for Tarn, the mech would feel shame for his impending overloads. That was far better than merely taking his gleeful victory from Tarn’s pain. Pharma’s touch was delicate, as if he was treating a brain module, not a valve designed for rougher impact. 

Maybe, he’d even go so far as to service Tarn, just to see how hard he could be pushed. Pharma had absolute faith in his compulsion coding. He’d made Tarn kill his own unit and he controlled his voice talent. A little valveplay shouldn’t be too much to handle.

“You’re very sensitive...how shocking. All these delicate little nodes, in a brute like you? What cruel design,” he smirked as he spoke and slid back, enough so he could rest his torso close to Tarn’s array. That valve was almost winking at him in invitation, clearly, twitching and jerking with every vent that blew over it.

 

It was a quirk of his frame that Tarn barely paid any mind to, given how little it factored into his daily life. The few times it’d been used, it had either been for someone else’s pleasure or out of simple curiosity. The sensitivity had been too much trouble, in the end, so Tarn simply left it be.

Now, he regretted that decision. Perhaps he should have gone all the way and had it removed entirely, if only to head off something like this. Not that he could have foreseen this, but Tarn -

His thoughts jerked back to the present as Pharma’s helm lowered. What was he doing? Tarn could hope, futilely, that he’d finally stopped fragging around and was going to get on with his spike. It was not to be, of course, and Tarn hissed as another node was pressed on, making his biolights pulse brighter as he shuddered. His spike strained, neglected, and Tarn wanted to curse at Pharma’s cruel game.

 

Pharma’s cruelty was bordering on charity, because he studied Tarn’s reactions carefully. Every ounce of pressure seemed to register within the valve, every slight force made those biolights pulse. What a pretty little spectacle this was turning into!

With soft grace, Pharma planted a kiss on Tarn’s valve, ignoring the way it twitched beneath his lips in favor of getting a taste of it. The first he’d ever had. And he suspected, the first glossa here on this array in quite some time.

 

_ Leave me be _ , he meant to say.  _ Cease _ , he wanted to demand.  _ Stop, before I rip your helm off _ , he thought. All of these words became meaningless confetti in his mind, however, as Tarn’s helm hit the back of the command chair and he bit his glossa hard enough to make it bleed. He grabbed an armrest and managed to avoid the consoles there, crumpling null metal in his grip instead.

His pede jumped and drew closer, all while Tarn tried to master his reactions and failed miserably doing so.

Curse the Autobots, curse the high castes, and most of all, curse Pharma, who must be enjoying this far more than he should.

 

Pharma didn’t let the strained protestations distract him from what he was doing. Tarn was punishing himself, really, he didn’t have to do anything to further it. He did, however, delve further into that valve, finding it rather velvety on his glossa, the tip of his nose bumping the lining. It was all done very tenderly, and Tarn was behaving as if Pharma was branding his spark with a marking iron. 

 

Pain would be better. Tarn could handle pain. He was much less of an expert in regards to pleasure, however. Charge hissed through his systems while he shuddered in place and Tarn wanted to reach down and wrench Pharma away. He could not, however - of course, no order had come in that vein, but he didn’t doubt that Pharma could make it an order if he wanted to. To avoid more leashes on his behavior, Tarn had to control himself instead.

He didn’t want to overload, simply because it would give Pharma the satisfaction of knowing he did. His frame had other intentions in mind. In short order, Tarn’s frustrated charge and heat found an outlet and he hissed as overload shook through him.

His biolights flashed before returning to their dull state, and Tarn almost shut down again as his spark wavered under the sudden load. Yet, Pharma’s improvements to him prevented this and Tarn hunched in on himself as he shivered, gasping.

 

That was a pretty sight. Pharma clicked record just in the nick of time to catch the beautiful spectacle of Tarn’s overload, rushing through his frame, curling back into his valve. He could see small bolts of current hop over his nodes and Pharma sat back, face full of lubricant which he wiped off with the back of his hand.

“You can’t say you didn’t enjoy that. I can taste your overload.”

Pharma also didn’t find much need to be patient or let Tarn stew in his rage, because he sank down on that abandoned spike in the next moment.

 

“That was -” Tarn geared up for a long, scathing rebuke when Pharma effectively cut him off yet again. This time, it was far more welcome and the last bits of the overload high in his system magnified the satisfaction of  _ finally _ getting what he wanted. Tarn relaxed back against his chair, holding Pharma against himself.

He’d get around to getting revenge on Pharma later, when there weren’t pressing matters like a good ‘face. Rather than address what Pharma said, he kissed him. It was a good stop to any more nasty comments, which was integral to Tan’s ability to enjoy Pharma’s presence in any sense.

 

Pharma had plenty of nasty comments in mind, and none of them needed to be rebukes to whatever tirade Tarn had in mind. It wasn’t as if Tarn’s opinion mattered. What did matter was the mouth on his own and the spike sinking deep past the limits of his calipers. Pharma enjoyed a little pain with his interfacing. And more than that, Tarn’s enthusiasm was addictive. Pharma had punished, tortured, killed, controlled, and forced Tarn into despicable things (justly deserved things, mind you) and still, the mech was charged beyond belief without any command to be.

A quiet hitch of laughter slipped into the kiss.

“You can argue, you can curse, but you can’t deny you’ll always want me.”

 

“As much as you do, after what I did,” Tarn replied, because fair was fair. He held Pharma so he couldn’t slip off, though now Pharma had the power to compel Tarn to let go. He wouldn’t hopefully. Tarn deepened the kiss so he couldn’t make any more smart comments about their dynamics.

His desire for Pharma hadn’t been impeded by his loathing of his faction or contempt for his personality. Why should a little murder and mental manipulation be any different? Tarn intended to punish Pharma for what he did, of course, because he never forgot a grudge, but he would not deny himself pleasure in the meantime.

 

It was, to be honest, fair play, considering everything that Tarn had done to Pharma previously. All of it had heightened each sense Pharma had for Tarn, and had fueled a deadly need for revenge. He’d had it. He’d made Tarn die, he killed his unit, he severed his allegiance and claimed the mech as his own. Tarn was reaping the seeds he’d sown himself and Pharma felt smugly justified in every stroke of his mad plan’s execution. Most of what he’d envisioned was taking place or had already been completed. He could set his sights on bigger targets any time he wished. The important was that he had a ship and his manageable companion.

Whom he was riding to sweet oblivion right now.

 

Despite all the changes in their dynamic, there was one thing that never changed between them. Tarn and Pharma loathed each other, despised each other enough to be driven to torture and murder, and they still desired each other. Despite the crimes against each other’s persons by both of them, they still held on tightly for the sake of mutual attraction.

Overload was a relief. Tarn was sure he was still angry with Pharma, but was too mellow to follow up on it, so he simply sat with Pharma on his lap, engine idling as the charge between them died down. It had been bad, then good, then bad, and then good again, and surely anyone’s helm could be mixed up after such a rollercoaster ride, right?

Yes, he decided, playing with Pharma’s turbine. That sounded about right.

 

The overload was welcome, as was the mellow aftermath. Pharma was slumped against Tarn’s chestplate, engine purring as it idled as he slowly regained his senses. Tarn was such an excellent toy, he was quite sure that he could never find another like him. No part of him could stretch enough to find regret in any of his actions. Everything had culminated in this, in Pharma’s power and all the assets he accumulated in his reanimation of the very mech that had terrorized his life.

“Hm...” he sat up, slowly extracting Tarn’s spent spike from himself.

“I would call that an adequate amount celebration for my victory.”

 

“Merely adequate?” Tarn rumbled as his servo slid off Pharma. He wanted to sit and hold him for a bit, but the residual anger lingering in his system turned their interaction bitter. Smashing his face into pieces on the floor remained sadly impossible, so Tarn made do.

He peered up at the ceiling, which glimmered with lights. The ship was in good order, thankfully, so at least he had no worries about it. There was still the matter of talking with Pharma and convincing him to not revive his unit…

Tarn sighed. Right, he couldn’t exactly push away Pharma as he pleased, not if he wanted to maneuver him into being a little more lax with his control. He held him again, this time bundling him against his chest so he could not slip away.

 

It was an oddly uncalled for act of affection and Pharma frowned up at Tarn, unsure what to make of it.

“...Are you thinking about killing me? I haven’t yet forbidden you to speak your thoughts.”

And oh, was he ever interested in how impotently angry Tarn must feel, with control completely beyond him.

 

“Not for the moment, no,” Tarn answered. “Perhaps a little earlier, but that was justified.”

Hm, this was actually nice, if he just ignored everything else about Pharma. Tarn got comfortable and his engine idled, creating a pleasant heat. “Can I not enjoy an overload?” he asked rhetorically. “Let me hold you without being interrogated on my intentions every spare second.”

He was learning to temper his anger to a far less explosive form. To react with rage at every slight would have Tarn snarling ineffectually against his bonds, while Pharma patting himself on the back for his clever cage. Instead, he let it percolate and grow as further evidence for the right time to act. Growing angry now would put him back a step. Out of the situation, Tarn could attempt to reason and work out a solution.

Not all was lost. If he resolved this, Tarn could return to his duties. He could even get his crew back, if he ever managed to turn the situation on Pharma so completely. There was something to fight for and that was all that mattered.

He returned to playing with Pharma’s turbine. “It is not as if there is something pressing for you to handle right this moment.” 

 

“Hm...there is the dissection of the spare parts in the common room. And I have to think about where I want to go. Cybertron would be my first thought, and yet...if it is still a filthy battleground, I am not so tempted.”

Pharma leaned into the touches, accepting them as appropriate tribute to his magnificence. Tarn would do well to forget about his previous life, allegiances, and priorities. He only lived at Pharma’s will, and that would never be untrue.

 

“Latest news indicates that Cybertron has endured several attacks, within and without. Something about ignited tensions along with foreign invaders.” Well, there had been a lot more to the story, but Pharma did not need to know  _ all _ of it. Besides, news from Cybertron came very rarely - the last transmission had been two months back.

He stroked Pharma and played on his craving for affection. “I want to negotiate,” he said after a pause. The little blades in Pharma’s turbine spun as he flicked them. “Consider it a setup for fresh terms.”

 

“Negotiate. Tarn, dear, you have absolutely nothing to offer me. I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate for more than a night’s recharge at this point.”

Still, Pharma kept his relaxed expression, lazing on Tarn as if he was a custom-made berth for his convenience.

“...But go ahead. Entertain me.”

 

“Dear,” Tarn said, echoing Pharma. “You enjoy that, don’t you? Dear, love… for someone who should hate me, you are fond of such endearments.”

He nuzzled Pharma as he spoke. “And of course, there are your orders. To hold you. To kiss you. To watch you. You like all of it.” He might have thought that Pharma simply craved attention, but Tarn didn’t think it would manifest in such a manner if it was that. No, no, it was something else.

His lips over Pharma’s audial, he said, “You like the affection, so you command me. But I think you would like it more if you did not have to compel it out of me.” Tarn eased back, letting Pharma lay on him more comfortably. “This  _ is _ nice, isn’t it? To lay together after an overload, and to relax… to enjoy such is not a weakness.”

 

Pharma’s optics sharpened. Tarn was treading on thin ice, pointing out a potential flaw. But perhaps there was something to be gleaned from his careful approach. Something that Pharma could correct at any given time.

He did not hate Tarn. He’d hated Tarn when he’d killed him, and once he was dead, he missed him. It was a complex array of emotions that Pharma didn’t like dealing with.

“You’re not capable of affection. You have to be commanded to do so, anything else is just...a game.”

 

“I did not realize you’d become an expert on what goes on in my mind,” Tarn murmured. “You think I am incapable of love? By that respect, you should be too. Yet you sit here, craving it nonetheless.”

Tarn kissed Pharma’s helm. “You’re wrong. I can be fond of things, I can be affectionate - perhaps even love, should that ever come up.” He kissed his cheek next. “We need not be enemies for the rest of our waking days. It would be terribly tiring, don’t you think?”

His mouth was his next target. Tarn lingered as he did, watching Pharma. “I could love you, Pharma.”

 

“I don’t believe you.” Pharma’s voice didn’t waver, but his resolve did. Vaguely. Tarn was a monster, one that was only good for serving someone smarter, like him. He wasn’t capable of being something more than that, especially not something as contrite as a lover.

“After what I have done? I would be a fool to trust you now.”

 

“Yet look at yourself as example. After everything I’ve done, you brought me back to life. You took me on, you keep me, and you command my affections. Would it be so surprising?” Tarn ran a claw along Pharma’s bottom lip, taking his time to lay out the picture as he saw it. “I’m not asking that you drop all precaution - merely that we… agree, perhaps, on certain matters.”

Tarn’s touch drew to his wings. He caressed them as Pharma liked and spoke softly so his voice wasn’t as strained. “You know I want you, Pharma. You knew it, back when our deal was still in place and Delphi still stood. I could have killed you easily, back then, I could have flattened your clinic too. You only got your chance for revenge because I withheld, because I still wanted you. And even now, after everything you’ve done… I still persist.”

It was no lie, considering what they had. Tarn lusted after Pharma fiercely, despite everything that should have tempered his thirsts, and had let himself end up in this situation because of it. Everything that should have stopped him only made him burn hotter.

“What is a simple thing like hate, between the two of us? It barely touches the surface.”

 

“And yet none of your pretty words encompass what you might have planned if I left you enough freedom to act. What lays between us isn’t halted by death.” As evident. Pharma had killed Tarn, without full knowledge of whether or not he could restore him to life. It hadn’t been his priority as it happened, it was merely an afterthought. If Tarn felt similarly, then he might end up killing Pharma, just as a byproduct of whatever else fueled him.

“What matters are those you vaguely allude to, Tarn? Let me hear them.”

 

“The matter of my unit, for one,” Tarn said. “I don’t want them brought back as slaves.”

They didn’t deserve that. They had not deserved to die either, but Tarn hadn’t exactly been overflowing with options at that point. Ideally, he’d have them back without any compulsion coding to turn them into slaves. A project for later.

“I want a measure of freedom,” he continued. “Some… say, you could say, in what I do.”

Tarn had little in the way of leverage. What he did have was the assumption that Pharma wanted something out of him that he could only get from Tarn. What he had to do was convince Pharma that he wanted it  _ enough _ to bargain.

 

“In what you do?”  Pharma’s optics glittered with malice; there were so many loopholes in what Tarn was suggesting that he could lazily wind his way through. Verbal games were their specialty, their foreplay. And they could be Tarn’s downfall, if he wasn’t vigilant enough.

“I can think about not reanimating your unit, I suppose. Their parts are more valuable severed from their frame.”

 

That was not quite how Tarn pictured it, but he would take his victories where he could. Death was better than slavery, if only by a thin,  _ thin _ margin. Better he negotiate that point later, rather than have Pharma wind up with a small squad of elite killers under his sway that he could use for whatever twisted purpose he had in mind.

“As for the second… in what I do, yes. My actions, be it in general or otherwise.” Tarn had enough of being puppeted like a particularly large toy. Not only was it degrading, it was also supremely boring to get stuck because Pharma forgot to counteract an order and then left him to stew in his thoughts while he did something else. No, no more of that.

“In exchange, things become easier between us. You wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder every spare second.”

 

“Your actions...there would have to be restrictions. Especially concerning my safety.” To let Tarn off of his leash was potentially fatal, but there was the possibility...the alluring possibility of experiencing Tarn, charming and romantic. Pharma couldn’t deny that the idea was appealing as it was dangerous.

“Your will in what I choose will not be any different. I decide where we go, what we do, and whom you kill. That much, I will not relent on.”

 

“Of course not.” He could work on that later. Wiggling out some breathing space for himself was his priority right now. Tarn would go mad if he was micromanaged by Pharma on such a constant basis. “That is acceptable.”

He petted his wings as he said, “My main concerns lie with my ability to move around. To do something else when you have no need of me. Such things are the first of what I desire.”

It was the one thing that irked Tarn the most. He was not a doll that could be set aside when Pharma was finished with him. “Secondly, I want command of my ship went needed. While your medical expertise is undoubted, I must be able to act if we come under attack or face an emergency outside of your purview.”

Tarn was certainly not going to die in a xeno attack because Pharma didn't give him the trust needed for Tarn to act independently. That was simply practical.

“And lastly… sleep in my berth with me. Regularly.”

 

Both of the first requests were to be expected. Tarn wanted power back for himself, and he wanted to feel like an autonomous being again. A reasonable request, all things considered. Tarn would still not have any say in where they went or when. He would have no control over their future. But what he could very well do was sabotage Pharma. Without the jet's meticulous control, Tarn could instrument a trap. He could send some secret message to the Decepticons that had received the message of corruption inside of the DJD.

“Your autonomy cannot be complete. I'm not stupid, Tarn, you could easily find a way around the restraints I place on you. I'll consider your request.”

Pharma slid off of Tarn, tired of the mess on his plating

“For now, you're free to get this ship ready to leave. And I'll see you in  _ my  _ berth, later.”

 

Considering it was  _ his _ name this ship flew under, under his command that it rose into the air, and the  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ was, frankly,  _ still his damn ship _ , that berth was also still his. But if Pharma wanted to insist otherwise for his power fantasy… well, that was his prerogative. Tarn knew the truth.

He ignored Pharma as he flounced away and performed the duties that were usually relegated to Kaon. It was all fairly simple stuff, really - the design of the Decepticon ships had taken into account the early ignorance of miners and laborers in regards to starships - so he didn’t struggle much. For navigation, he set the course in the opposite direction of Cybertron. A pleasure planet in the next sector would do, if only to serve as a distraction for Pharma.

He locked it, so Pharma wouldn’t be able to change it on a whim. For a moment, he considered sending out a distress signal as well… but changed his mind.

This was his fight. Tarn could handle it on his own.

No, really.

He could.

With every system prepped for a journey, Tarn rose from the chair. Cleaning drones were summoned to repair and clean the mess they made, while Tarn ventured into a ‘fresher. He chose sonics, even though solvent was the more comfortable of the two, and walked out minutes later with all the filth on him vibrated away.

For his unit… he personally handled their frames. They would stay in their barracks until he could convince Pharma to bring them back for Tarn. At least their deaths had been clean, leading to no need for a clean-up. They only missed their sparks, so they didn’t need to undergo the near full-body replacement that Tarn had.

His servo lingered on Vos’ thin frame. “Just wait a while,” Tarn murmured. “You’ll be back.”

He glanced at the other dark, grey bodies in the room before he turned and left, locking the door behind him as he did. Tarn checked everything else to ensure it met his meticulous standards and was satisfied.

The duties of caring for the ship would be a little harder on his own, but everything was mostly automated. This wasn’t his first time caring for the ship alone while waiting for replacements to arrive. Or, in this case, while waiting for reanimation.

He ventured to his rooms once he was done. He needed a drink.


	5. Chapter 5

Pharma watched the empty optics of the statue, staring balefully at him through the glas of the airlock. Megatron's face stared at him from hundreds of items, expectant and dull. Pharma hated all of it.

Walking into Tarn's special room had been a revolting experience, filled to the brim with evidence that Tarn was a zealot with an obsession. All the energy he had to worship Megatron, Pharma would claim for himself. And the first step was this here, flushing the evidence of his poor life choices into space. Really, Pharma was doing Tarn a favour.

He hit the release button and the hatch behind the statue (among other, tasteless tributes to Megatron's existence) yawned wide open.

Pharma waved to the unseeing optics as Megatron slowly floated out into black space. Good riddance. This one...this ship, its commander, both belonged to Pharma. He worked hard to obtain them, and he'd die before they escaped his possession. Quite literally, because if Tarn ever regained full control over himself, Pharma would find his end.

And yet he was willing to play with fire. Let Tarn off of the leash, a little, just to see if he could make good on his promise.

_ I could love you. _

Pharma severely doubted it. No one else had managed that in all of his life and he wasn't foolish enough to think that it changed anything at all.

But let Tarn try to convince him. Allow him the delusion of hope for a change. It would keep him from becoming as dull as the corpses floating out to space now.

 

Something struck Tarn as terribly odd when he entered his quarters. Everything  _ looked _ intact and cursory examination showed no enemies lying in wait. His luxuries were present, as was the furniture…

...but everything  _ else _ was gone. His hangings, the plaques, the trophies… all of them were missing. Tarn froze when he realized it, and frantically searched for the reason why. A look into his berthroom showed the missing corpses and he was certain that if he checked elsewhere, the other memorabilia on the ship would also be gone.

Who…?

Ah. Of course. There was only one person on the ship with the motive and the capacity. Pharma must have done this, as part of his inane crusade to drive Megatron out of Tarn’s spark. He  _ would _ be malicious enough to destroy everything he spent his life collecting. Tarn looked to see if  _ anything _ had been spared the purge, and was relieved to find a few pieces that survived. Innocuous books, the speeches and holos on the ship’s memory banks, the bits in his vault… all of it was intact. Everything else… less so.

A shadow passed over the window. Tarn looked up and watched, dumbstruck, as his lord’s grim face floated by.

_ Not the statue _ , he thought, optics shuttering while he buried his face in his servos. Pharma had thrown it out the airlock,  _ of course he had _ , and Tarn couldn’t exactly throw  _ him _ out after it either. The ship was moving, so there was no way he could salvage everything in time. It was… gone.

_ Years of effort _ wasted. Countless pieces of history, culture, and symbology,  _ gone _ .

Before Tarn knew it, he’d already destroyed a bulkhead in his anger. The pummeled metal was given over to a drone for clean-up, while Tarn seethed in the stripped remains of his quarters. The luxury was intact, as was everything that was strictly necessary…

It was just that the  _ character _ of everything was gone. At least the rooms of his unit must be intact, since Pharma didn’t have the codes to their rooms. He couldn’t get rid of the bigger, inset symbols, like the carved Decepticon badge on the ceiling, but he had taken everything that he  _ could _ .

A priceless crystal table was thrown at the wall. Tarn listened to the sound of it shattering, and imagined it was Pharma in its place.

He drew out something expensive, strong, and neon from the cabinet, and drained it in a single pull. Tarn had a feeling he would need more, given the kind of beginning they were having. The empty bottle was thrown after the table, and the beleaguered drone set to work after it was sure Tarn’s rage had been temporarily expended.

He strode towards the airlock room, where Pharma must be. Tarn wasn’t quite sure what revenge he would extract, but he would think of it when he found him.

 

Pharma's purge of the ship was not quite over. And while it was true that there were some designs he couldn't remove, he certainly had a knack for finding anything Tarn might be fond of and destroying it. Or at least propelling it to such an end swiftly.

The saw squealed as it troubled itself with the old fusion cannon and Pharma hissed his discontent as he unjammed the motor. The sparks flying off of his handy tool didn't bother him, they merely served as illumination to the satisfied expression he wore. A pile of dismembered corpses was stacked in the airlock behind him, all of them bearing writings from a former miner.

 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Tarn hissed as he walked in on a nightmarish scene. He took in the destroyed first edition corpses, the fusion cannon that Pharma was driving his medical saw through, and the assorted bits and pieces around his pedes.

Maybe he could weld it back together. Tarn tried to think up the ways he might repair the damage Pharma wrought while he grabbed his wrist, pulling his saw away from the cannon. “That is  _ enough _ ,” Tarn snapped.

 

Pharma found the interruption unwelcome and uncalled for, but he supposed since Tarn was the curator of this ridiculous collection, he would have some emotion about its destruction. Funny how he displayed more now than he had when killing his unit. The mech’s priorities were another thing Pharma was going to have to adjust.

The saw whined and sputtered as it stilled and Pharma’s optics narrowed.

“That’s not up to  _ you _ . Your obsession is pathetic, Tarn. A miner out of his place is no mech to  _ worship. _ All of it is going to go. Whether you agree or not is not a concern to me.”

 

Tarn’s optics narrowed as he bristled. Pharma’s mouthy opinion was almost enough to drive him into another rage, but he was no fan of being ordered into stillness and watch everything be destroyed anyway.

He drew Pharma closer. “I thought we agreed on certain matters,” he said. Tarn slowly pushed down the saw - away from the cannon still - and took Pharma’s other servo in hand. “Let’s not be too hasty, dear.”

 

“I never agreed to letting you keep pieces of trash intended as decoration in an ode to a delusional, filthy miner.” Pharma was playing with the limits of his compulsion coding, and he was excited about it. Tarn always reacted extremely to even an imagined slight against Megatron. Now, Pharma was blatantly insult the mech that Tarn worshipped.

“He will mean nothing to you, in due time. You’ll see. You won’t need anyone else but me. I promise it, Tarn.”

The saw pressed into Tarn’s side, the teeth and chain catching on his plating.

“I’d take you apart before I return you back into Decepticon service.” 

 

The saw drew a thin cut on Tarn but he did not flinch. His formerly-dead body did not bleed like most others did and the energon that came out was sluggish, rotted from how long he spent inert. Rage kindled in him, threatened to overwhelm him, but the slight pain from the saw was a good reminder of the present.

He would throw away everything here if it was to serve his lord. These… pieces were important, yes, but they paled in comparison to service. If he lost his temper, then he would set himself back. To need only Pharma… the thought was so absurd that Tarn would have laughed if he wasn’t steeped in fury.

He pulled the saw away from himself, and ignored the way the teeth pushed against his fingers. Pharma wanted to push him, that much was clear. He wanted Tarn to walk into a trap of his own making again. Yet he had made one mistake in this - he’d given Tarn time to think. That had allowed him the space needed to cool his helm and assess what he needed to do. If Tarn had been so quick to flare in response to every insult, he would not have survived as long as he did.

“Will you?’ he simply asked, optics glinting, and kissed him briefly. “Be  _ reasonable _ , my  _ dear _ doctor.”

 

Tarn didn’t explode as Pharma expected. Good. It was testament to how well this readjustment was working. Clearly, if Tarn was still his old self, he would never have accepted insult to Megatron and the proposition of being enthralled by Pharma completely.

“I don’t want to, of course,” he purred in response to the affections. Those were the way to get anything out of him at all, “But I worked hard to bring you back. No one else is going to enjoy the fruit of my labor. You are mine and mine alone.”

 

“No one will,” Tarn promised, and kissed Pharma’s servo. “And I don’t deny the work you put into bringing me back.”  _ After killing me _ . “But you don’t need to be so drastic.”

He slowly drew Pharma away from the airlock, closer to the door leading out. A thought occurred to him in that moment - to lead Pharma to the airlock, to distract him with kisses and affection, and then to throw him out while he was distracted. It was inherently risky, however, and Tarn discarded the idea as soon as it came to him. No, he could not waste the one bullet he had in the chamber, so to speak. If he lost what minimal trust he’d gained here, he would never get it back.

 

“Don’t I?” Pharma knew better than to trust Tarn, but he did allow the mech to lead him away from his original intention. He could always discard these things later on (and he absolutely would), alongside anything else too connected to Tarn’s past. 

“I mean it, Tarn. You’ve never taken me seriously enough, and you’ll regret underestimating me now. If I see anything, hear you say or do anything that implies you are loyal to something or someone else...I will make you into the lovely puppet you don’t want to be. I want you, but I don’t need you.”

 

“Your point is clear,” Tarn said dryly. “I will keep it in mind.”

Pharma wanted him to break away from his lord, that was obvious. He should not expect Tarn to be so quick with it, however, and he likely did not. While his loyalty had always been clear, perhaps… toning it down, horrid was it was, would be necessary to survive this with his mind and will intact.

At least Pharma allowed himself to be led away. Tarn could maneuver him into his quarters - woefully bare as they were - and somewhere where he was less likely to cause constant trouble. “You are a demanding master,” Tarn said, only  _ slightly _ sarcastic on the last word, “is pleasing you going to be perpetually impossible?”

 

“No, it is not impossible. But I have a vision for you, Tarn, and you must fulfill it. I don’t intend to let you deviate from the path I set you on. I gave you life, and so it belongs to me as I see fit. One day, I would have you love me to a point where I can remove your compulsion coding and killing me will still never enter your mind. Or hurting me, or executing some form of petty revenge. I have dreams for you, Tarn. Dreams you never could have hoped to find on your own. But you don’t have to. That’s what I do for you.”

Pharma was pleased to hear his own thoughts put into words and vaguely intoxicated by the potential in them. He saw himself, returned to a society that would respect him, and he had Tarn at his side, monstrous, loyal, devoted, smart. Smarter than he ever had been as a mere henchman to Megatron. Tarn would be the only one Pharma could trust, because he’d have journeyed to the deepest crevices of his mind. Tarn would be predictable, because Pharma will have explored every part of him, every impulse and emotion.

And Tarn would adore him for all of it.

 

These dreams of Pharma’s sounded nothing like what Tarn wanted. He kept his scoffing to himself, however, and instead nuzzled him as the door closed.  _ You only revived me on a whim _ , he thought, but none of it showed. “So you would have me as a loving, slavish servant to your will and whims,” he murmured. “I am no slave.”

He settled on the couch with Pharma near him. Tarn needed another drink. An absent order to a drone had it made for them both. It was something expensive - again - and from some distant colony of Cybertron’s back when Nova was Prime. He’d found it in a Tower noble’s engex collection.

“Love is not true if it is forced,” he said, “loyalty cannot be falsified.”

 

Pharma found himself seated again, only vaguely against his will. He listened to Tarn half-heartedly, rather enjoying his expensive drink. Wherever they stopped next, they’d stock up. Pharma would never drink anything less than triple filtered energon ever again.

“What do you know about love? People can’t be trusted. Everyone has a breaking point, and everyone is capable of betrayal. Love or hate barely suffice as motivation.”

Wasn’t it beautifully ironic that Tarn had been the one to encourage such thinking in Pharma in the first place? And now he was here, enslaved to Pharma’s will, severed from the Cause he once feverishly enforced.

 

“Indeed. Everything can be broken, Pharma. No matter how many times they’ve been before…” Tarn admired the color of his drink idly, then sipped it. “...there’s still lower to go.”

But Tarn could trust Pharma to be selfish and greedy. As long as those axes remained viable, he had a fighting chance. “But do you think it is necessary to break, every single time? I find people to be far more… _brittle_ … on the second time.”

Tarn leaned back and, on a whim, laid his helm on Pharma’s lap. “Everyone is capable of betrayal, yet you want my loyalty. Love does not matter, but you want my love. Which is it?”

 

“Love doesn’t prevent a breaking mind, is what I said.” Pharma adjusted to the weight on his lap, servos idly petting Tarn’s helm. It was actually kind of soothing, to have him close like this and feel the plating shift in an echo of life. Sometimes, Pharma looked upon the rusted joints and disintegrated internals and felt the sting of regret. He couldn’t forge Tarn anew, not with what he had at his disposal, and so, there’d always be a component of rot about him. Which was a shame, considering how fiercely powerful and proud this frame had been.

In moments like those, however, when the regret reared its ugly head, Pharma only had to tug at his memories of Delphi, and Tarn’s death grew justified once more. No matter how much Pharma had grown to cherish, crave, and lust for the power inherent to his person.

“I want your devotion. I know what you’re capable of, I’ve seen it directed. It’s beautiful, that kind of loving loyalty. It is only logical that I would want just that.”

 

“You can’t have it if you break me,” Tarn said, as if they were discussing the drink in their servos and not his possible mental mutilation. “You think to snap my loyalty to Lord Megatron and shift it to yourself? No. What you will do is destroy it entirely.”

He snatched a servo and pressed it to his lips. “But don’t despair. I can be as devoted as you want, as loving as you want, but I can only offer it, as I did to Lord Megatron. Forcing loyalty never works - that is why the war began.”

You could pressure something, and you could expect two results. Either it broke… or it exploded. Pharma had done a combination of the two, which Tarn couldn’t begrudge him for. If all this lethality could be given a target, could be given some direction that  _ wasn’t _ his self-centered vanity… why, then he would be  _ magnificent. _

“Look how far we came already. You spent months controlling me, yet I would never touch you like this had you not agreed to give me some measure of myself back to me. Think on that. Distrust me as it pleases you, but I know something about loyalty. And lastly, Pharma…”

Their fingers laced together as Tarn stared up at him evenly. “I don’t want to kill you. Why would I, after everything I’ve done to  _ make _ you?”

 

Pharma’s fingers slipped over Tarn’s helm, softly, tracing the latches for the mask. It remained gone, disintegrated long ago, but Pharma might see fit to replace it when the mood struck. He preferred to look at Tarn’s face, still handsome, no longer scarred. Cosmetic damage could only go so far in being aesthetic, but there’d been no derma base to fix it with completely. Instead, almost half of Tarn’s face was blackened with the derma substitute. But at least it wasn’t an open spot of rust anymore.

“I suppose I have to agree with you there. It wouldn’t make much sense, but you’ve never needed much reason to hurt me other than your whims. I don’t want that part of your will. Your addictions...they made you weak. You might have made me, Tarn, but I am remaking you now. And I will make you better than you were. I don’t have to break you...you are right about that. But I will remake you nonetheless. Call it my gratitude, my sparkfelt, sincere gratitude for setting me free.”

 

“My dear, dear Pharma…  _ you _ were an addiction. Are, still.” His addiction for Pharma had weakened him more than anything else did. Everything else had been… shallow. Something he could have dropped, but chose to not. It never impeded in his performance anyway.

“I should hate you,” he murmured, “and yet, no. I don’t think there is room for hate in what what we are.”

Leaving Pharma to touch his face, as he was wont, Tarn traced the front of his chassis, where he knew his spark to be. If he could reach his power again - it’d slipped away, after his last use - he would be able to strike Pharma dead within the space of one sweet word. “My spark,” he said, “I’ve seen it. It’s no longer green. Am I even an outlier, or am I closer to a blue now?”

It might explain his power loss. Perhaps he could reach it only when compelled to, now.

 

“Neither,” Pharma’s voice gentled, as if this was a moment of tenderness and not a conversation turning to the subject of Tarn’s undeath. It was the same atmosphere they’d had after Tarn would do something violent and humiliating to him. This strange lull, this comfort between them, even though they were at each other’s throats in any way they possibly could be. Tarn and Pharma had always existed in a vacuum, alone, together...it was intoxicating.

“Your spark is barely at half function. That’s why you have to recharge so much. I could transfer you to a smaller frame, but I like this form for you. Your spark isn’t green, or blue. It may look...teal, to the naked optic. If you were not an outlier, I could not have revived it to this stage of functionality. It’s less than half, but still enough for you to live. But the frequency still does not match a blue spark.”

 

“So we can’t merge,” Tarn concluded. “Mm, shame. I would have merged to prove what I said to you.”

Half functionality didn’t sound good, however. “Can you not… fix it further? Do you need something else?” More bodies, sparks, frames… he could provide all for a promise of being more than half of himself.

 

“Maybe. I’m not sure. If I had another outlier spark to study, I could probably make something to charge yours back to full health. If it’s possible, I can’t promise.” Pharma brushed over the uneven derma substitute on Tarn’s face, which covered most of his left side. The blue eye’s side, which made for a striking contrast that Pharma could actually find quite pleasing. 

“Isn’t it just fitting? That you would be one of the few mecha that just keep coming back from death? I suppose that makes you feel closer to your false lord and his prime, but it just means that you can stay with me, for as long as I like.”

 

“Only if you can repeat the process,” Tarn said, keeping himself mild despite the jab at his lord. “Should I fall again, due to battle or otherwise, are you certain that you can reanimate me once more?”

Discussing his death was still a little odd, but Tarn was learning quickly. It was just one the speedbumps of travel in  _ fragging _ space, where anomalies were  _ normal _ . “And my optic… replace it. This one is… incorrect.”

Tarn touched it, frowning. “You repaired my scar as well. Why?”

 

“I’m remaking you, dear, remember?” Pharma stroked over the material, soft and pliant to the touch. It wasn’t a permanent graft and Tarn would probably scrape it off in due time, but for now, it suited him. He looked just different enough for Pharma to claim him whole, and not too different to be another mech.

“I’ll replace it if I see a need to. And I can absolutely repeat the process. There’s residue, when your spark goes out. I had a lot of time to study your frame and your sparkchamber, and it must be an outlier trait. Residual charge from your plasma that can be reignited. I only gave it a jumpstart from a blue spark, and I think that might be why you’re only at half strength.”

 

“Your spark,” Tarn said, filling in the blank. “Why, I did not know you were such a romantic, Pharma.”

He was truly freakish now. His body had been mutilated, his frame had been desecrated, and his looks were a mishmash of parts that Pharma had cobbled together. Tarn wasn’t a vain person, but he was reminded of his death each time he saw the dull plating or the fleck of rust that lingered on his protoform.

“I want to find another outlier, then. To repair my spark properly.” Tarn paused, then considered Pharma. “Must I jump through several hoops for this?”

 

“Perhaps. You’re certainly going to have to do some heavy lifting.” If they ever came across another outlier, that mech would end up at Pharma’s mercy eventually. And maybe, maybe he would be gracious enough to repair Tarn. It wasn’t impossible.

“But when the war is over, I will go home.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sooner or later, Tarn’s small case of trickery was found out. Pharma immediately had him switch course towards their home planet, and Tarn had to spend an evening between his legs to appease him. This set the tone for the rest of their journey.

It was a surreal existence between them. They remained entangled and yet apart, talking circles around one another in a desperate attempt to gain leverage. Pharma lorded his power and Tarn seethed. They never argued - a strange case - but their secret war merely shifted to the berth. Tarn squeezed out small concessions from Pharma and tried to pull them away from his stubborn course, but ultimately failed.

The call from Cybertron had come. They both heard it in their minds, that echoing  _ come home _ and Pharma heeded it immediately. Tarn argued, debated, and wheedled, but Pharma seemed to grow more and more stubborn each time.

Their relationship, as this went on, became even more complicated. Tarn was, to Pharma’s surprise, an adept romantic and suitor, who could pull off his role marvelously. The passion in it was perhaps even real, but it was always shadowed by Tarn’s clear desire for freedom. He asked for it between kisses, made his case before they recharged, and whispered for it during the day.

Still, it wasn’t always so cold. Tarn - dare he say it - was growing somewhat fond of Pharma. They did not speak of it, but it was clear all the same. He resented being a prisoner, disliked his loss of choice, and only grudgingly acquiesced on many matters, but he took on his role of lover with suspicious alacrity. Tarn protested often, but not as often as he should for his position.

 

It was almost a peaceful existence. Tarn tread the line carefully, never pushing Pharma into the boundless anger that had resulted in his death. Much the opposite. Every whispered plea was wrapped in pleasing and appeasing Pharma.

He could stand to live like this forever. Adrift in the stars with Tarn at his pedes, albeit resilient. Pharma found a measure of peace in satisfaction and at the same time, grew hungry for more. This was the basic staple of his life. A throne made by Tarn, for him, he would accept no less. But it couldn’t be their life forever. And so, inevitably, Tarn’s scheme of playing keep-away was discovered and the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ changed course for Cybertron.

It was fortune or good timing that Pharma would be holding a pad and receiving something broadcasted on all frequencies. 

His current position of lounging in berth with the bulk of his undead servant as a rest for his turbine took some of the gravitas out of the speech, but Megatron’s voice echoed around the room for the first time in months. Maybe years, depending on what Tarn had done in his last living days.

_ Stand down. It’s over. We lost. _

How expected. Pharma felt nothing for a supposed victory of the faction whose brand he still bore on his chest. It was a victory without meaning, especially to him. But it did signal to him that he was right in wanting to return home. Cybertron was undoubtedly in chaos. This might be the ideal time to slip back in and carve a comfortable niche for himself.

And Tarn.

There was no effort on Pharma’s part to hide what he was watching from his loving slave. 

 

While Pharma felt nothing, Tarn listened to his world fall apart. It came apart in speech-form, from a dearly-beloved voice, and it slowly tore apart everything Tarn believed in. It was like many of the speeches he’d listened to - Megatron had not lost his orative ability despite the long years since his last. Yet, the voice that should have been a comfort to him was now a hell.

He spelled out the death of the Cause. He told lies and blasphemy in one breath, denouncing the Decepticons, denouncing the creed he himself had championed, and demanded, finally, that they all surrender.  _ Come home _ , Megatron said,  _ come back and lay down your arms _ .

Tarn was holding onto Pharma more tightly than ever, optics pale with ruin, expression disbelieving. His servos would have shook if he hadn’t been holding on. Tarn had just been teasing Pharma moments ago, licking and nipping his audial, tempting him into another ‘face. Now, the room was as frigid as Messatine.

If Tarn had been capable of weeping, he would have.

“It can’t be,” he said, voice trembling, “no, it must be... it must be Autobot propaganda, designed to deceive Decepticons into their trap. It can’t  _ be _ .”

 

“This came over Decepticon channels,” Pharma pointed out, calm as a glacier as he turned his attention from the video to Tarn. Who looked appropriately as if his world had fallen out of orbit. He was witnessing what Pharma had mockingly predicted (not precisely in that form). The downfall, the end, the surrender.

“Once we arrive at Cybertron, we’ll certainly see. But it does look like you’re being abandoned by your leader. Maybe he’s tired of losing the war.”

It wouldn’t take much to push Tarn over the edge.

 

It was true - this broadcast had Megatron’s personal signal code on it, to verify that it was really was him and not a clever fake. Yet, Tarn couldn’t believe. He snatched the datapad out of Pharma’s servo and broke it in half before throwing it at the wall. Destroying it did not erase the words from his mind.

He shook his helm. “No, it can’t be. It’s… a ruse. Perhaps Lord Megatron means to surrender falsely - it would not be the first time. You know nothing, Pharma.”

The pit of coldness in his gut belied his words. Tarn refused to fully believe, however, and clung to a thin hope that it was all an Autobot trick, or a clever tactic from his lord. He held Pharma firmer to his chest, as if for comfort. 

  
  


Pharma noticed Tarn wasn’t pushing him away as expected and that bode well for the mech’s imminent future. Carefully, he arranged himself against Tarn, ignoring the mess made of the pad and the distraught look in Tarn’s optics.

“I do know people, Tarn. Do you remember what I said? Everyone is prone to betrayal.”

It wasn’t a far leap for a distressed mind to make such a thing as giving up four million years of war as personal betrayal. This might just be his chance to sever Tarn from Megatron’s grasp, and Pharma didn’t even have to fabricate it.

“The Autobots betrayed me, and now, Megatron betrayed the Decepticons. You.”

 

He shook his helm again but Pharma’s words took root in his mind. Could it be true? Could his lord have betrayed Tarn? No, no, he had to gird himself against these lies and believe, hold faith, stand fast…

_ But what if? _

“You are grasping at straws,” he accused, only the quiver in his voice belying the turmoil in his mind. “He wouldn’t. He  _ can’t _ … as long as I am loyal, he will be true, he  _ promised _ me!”

Megatron would never leave him. He was the one who raised Tarn from the depths of his depression, the one who’d given him a purpose, a life, a direction. He wouldn’t. Lies, it was all  _ lies _ .

“We must go to Cybertron,” Tarn said, getting off the berth, “with all haste. This must be stopped before this - this  _ lie _ spreads any further!”

A lie, yes, it was a lie. A traitor in the ranks, perhaps, impersonating his lord and spreading misinformation to push Decepticons into thoughtless surrender. Or an Autobot spy, like Agent 113, anything was possible. Tarn reassured himself, and then berated himself for his moment of insecurity. How could he think that? His lord would never.

He was sure of it.

 

“Of course. But if it turns out to be true, you owe me an apology.” Pharma wasn’t really going to resist on the issue. They were going to Cybertron regardless of Megatron’s words. They’d learn the truth and Tarn would most likely be devastated. A state of mind like that would be fertile soil to grow Pharma’s influence. Fate had thrown him a path wide open and Pharma would take mile-long steps down it.

“Calm yourself. We’re already on course. I will give you time alone to process this.”

Yes, he had to appear benevolent and understanding now. Tarn was about to crack himself open without any of Pharma’s help.

 

Time alone was precisely what Tarn shouldn’t have had. Without Pharma’s company to give him respite from his thoughts, he was plagued with unwanted concerns. He later found a different datapad and reviewed the evidence - the signal codes, the voice, the transmission, and found it flawless. It was enough to make him angry and concerned at the same time.

_ It’s not possible _ , he argued, but a voice persisted.  _ What if? _ It asked him, over and over, and each iteration sent Tarn into mental fits. He obsessed over the speech, trying to pick it apart in any way he could. Was that word improperly pronounced? Was there a tell in that sentence? Was there a code or a hidden message? He compared it to older speeches and locked himself into his room several times, listening and relistening frantically.

It eluded him and Tarn was half-mad by the time they came into Cybertron’s vicinity. He’d destroyed several datapads in his anger and pieces of furniture had been broken in half. He tried to seek solace at Pharma’s side, before turning away in an explosion of temper and suspicion. Enemies were everywhere.

 

Pharma was the calm in Tarn’s storm. Whilst his companion headed straight for mental breakdown, he had to figure out how to get the high profile scourge of the Decepticons planetside. They were not exactly piloting a subtle ship...

When Pharma hailed the spaceport authorities, he could almost hear the control mech screech in fear. His answer to Pharma’s identification as an Autobot was nothing short of wonderment. He announced cargo of scientific interest, which wasn’t necessarily saying anything.

 

-x-

 

It kind of looked like a coffin, from every angle. Pharma inspected his servo as he waited for Tarn to get in.

“Well?”

 

“How long must I stay in it?” he asked hoarsely. Tarn looked a mess, given everything that went down. His paint was duller than usual, his optics were over-bright, and he looked on edge. He peered at the coffin suspiciously, as if looking for some trap.

To get him into Cybertron, Pharma had explained, he couldn’t be alive. If the Autobot victory was true, then Tarn would be immediately imprisoned, if not outright killed. It made sense, but Tarn was slow to admit it.

He… didn’t relish the idea of being dead and vulnerable. Even if Pharma could revive him, there was no telling what might happen between this and then. 

 

“At least two days. They’ll inspect you in the cargo hold and a medibay. It’s common procedure. Apparently, that hasn’t changed for four million years.” Pharma turned to Tarn, deciding he needed to drip-feed a little more affection into the tankformer, who looked much worse for wear. A persuading appearance for faking death, certainly.

“Dear, it’s only temporary. You know I won’t let anyone keep you from me,” Pharma’s servos framed his distressed face and he placed a kiss on Tarn’s lips.

 

He latched onto the affection tightly, even though they both knew it was staged. Tarn held his wrists tightly and stared at Pharma, optics imploring. “You’ll come back?” he asked. Pharma might not know it, but the words held deeper meaning for Tarn.

He was so  _ tired _ of being left behind. If he let this happen, allowed himself to play Pharma’s game,  _ and was left behind _ …

Tarn would do something  _ drastic _ , death be damned. His optics blazed as stress made his plating ripple anxiously. “Promise me, Pharma,” he demanded. “Promise me you will come back.”

 

“Shh,” Pharma nuzzled his face, ignoring the way Tarn’s plating seemed to flare with anxious energy. The mech was a mess, and he was Pharma’s mess. He’d let Tarn consume himself with love and gratitude when Pharma of all people was the only reliable constant in his life.

“You’re mine. No one will take you from me. I will always come for you. Remember that, Tarn. You belong to and with me. I didn’t raise you from the dead to lose you to anything or any _ one.” _

 

It should not have comforted him. It did.

Tarn searched Pharma’s face for any sign of falsehood before slowly looking back at the coffin where he was meant to stay. He swallowed once, and let go of the medic. His servos shook as Tarn stepped back, closer to it. 

“Good,” he choked out and entered the coffin. Lying back into it was an uncomfortable, vulnerable experience, and Tarn shifted uneasily. He was going to die if things went to plan. Pharma promised to bring him back, but Tarn could not be sure.

But this was the only way. He  _ had _ to.

His optics shuttered as Tarn stilled. “Do it,” he muttered, taking one last vent of air before trying to relax.

 

Pharma leaned over the side of the coffin, placing a kiss on Tarn’s helm, one hand stroking his neck kibble. This would be a sweeter death than Red Rust. Pharma didn’t intend to have him suffer.

“It will be quick, love,” he muttered as he administered the spark-muting agent he’d constructed for this particular event. It was the quickest way to kill a mech and Pharma honestly felt a little apprehensive about making use of it. But he’d brought Tarn back before, he could do it again.

“I will see you when you wake, Tarn.”

 

Dying was… strange. Dying like this, willingly and passively, was even stranger. Tarn’s optics onlined as he felt Pharma get started, and he watched him prepare the agent that he’d showed Tarn earlier when explaining his plan. It was supposed to be painless, according to Pharma. Painless, simple, easy - just like going to sleep.

Numbness spread through Tarn and his venting stuttered. He instinctively tried to fight back before forcibly relaxing again. His entire frame tingled then, as if he was walking through fire. He registered warm and cold, then nothing at all. Inside him, he could feel his spark begin to weaken.

Was this how his victims must have felt? Was this how Kaon, Vos, Helex, and Tesarus felt when he snuffed their sparks? Tarn had never known was being on the receiving end of his power was like - not until now.

His spark fluttered inside him like a desperate, dying flame, trying to fight back the muting agent slowly stifling it. Tarn’s systems tried to scream for action, but the second-stage agent stopped that. His descent into death was slow, like falling through water. Tarn’s vision grew hazy, and he still watched Pharma. He tried to speak, but his glossa felt thick and unresponsive.

He tried to reach out. For what, Tarn was not sure. Perhaps some modicum of comfort, to know that his second death was not going to be as alone and ignoble as his first. But he could only reach out weakly, silently, into empty space.

Pharma was growing unfocused by the second. Tarn’s optics dulled and stared into nothing as his frame slackened. His spark struggled… then died. A final, soft vent escaped him as the grey spread outward from his chest. His servo fell back to his side.

Tarn moved no more. He was dead.

 

This time, there was no rush of triumph for Pharma. He stroked Tarn’s helm until it was a dull, dark grey, and persisted after a moment’s pause to check all of his functions. He was still, growing cold. Dead. Pharma felt discomfort race down his spinal strut and resisted the wild urge to immediately get to work on reanimating Tarn again. That would have to wait, and he’d spend at least two days waiting for the inspection to go through. Then, he’d have to hope he retained ownership of the Tyranny as a ship and home, even if it would be stripped of flight capability and weaponry as according to the law laid down in this new, strange peace.

“I’ll get you back.” he whispered, kissing Tarn one last time before closing the lid of the coffin-shaped crate. His spark fluctuated hard as he braced himself to be the harrowed survivor of a doomed outpost with a bounty fit for a king.

 

-x-

 

The  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ was received with the kind of awe only urban legends get. Similar to Overlord’s  _ Purgatory _ and Megatron’s  _ Nemesis _ , the  _ Tyranny _ had entered the Autobot collective mind as one of the most dreaded ships to grace Cybertronian skies. People like Optimus Prime and Ratchet might receive it with their usual grim-faced readiness, but the common soldier was abuzz with rumor as to what happened. One customs agent who got off shift when the Tyranny announced itself was currently regaling anyone and everyone who would listen with his story (and getting drinks free out of it too).

There was also a greed in the wait, as everyone clamored to look at the corpse of the Decepticon nightmare. Tarn the zealot, finally killed - and not by a soldier, or a Wrecker, or someone with the appropriate name and title, but a simple  _ medic _ .

It was too good to be fake.

While this happened, however, Prowl waited elsewhere. Through his windows, he could watch the Peaceful Tyranny be tugged in magnetically. It was an ugly, pointed ship dated from back when the Decepticon zealotry was at its highest, and symbol ships became a common sight in the fleet. One of Shockwave’s worse ideas, in Prowl’s opinion.

What he was concerned by, however, was not the ship’s questionable aesthetic qualities. His attention was taken up by the mech who claimed to be in it.

Pharma of Iacon, currently a high-standing medic within the army. Formerly, a wavering, sycophantic socialite of the intellectual caste, with the unpleasant personality to match. To Prowl, he was merely a sacrifice. Should have been, at any rate.

The plan had been simple. Tarn’s addictions were a well-known quality in Autobot High Command, though it had taken Prowl some time to figure out how to use it against him. He’d come across a simple solution with Delphi, with the right bait and incentive to keep Tarn occupied while Prowl moved his other pieces on the board.

Dominus had proven infiltration was a dead-end. The next tactic - bait - had been much better. Direct one high-minded, arrogant medic to an out-of-the-way clinic. Add a Decepticon turncoat, to make the target that much more appealing. Let Tarn find them, and trust the high caste to do what high castes did - scramble to get to the top.

Pharma had been an effective distraction. He kept Tarn occupied and pinned to a relatively predictable location, and all Prowl had to do was cancel his frequent supply and transfer requests. He’d automated it, simply because there was too much to do and a single medic was adequate sacrifice for a whole army, in Prowl’s opinion.

And now, he was here. He managed to kill Tarn, if the story was to be believed.

Prowl didn’t believe it.

So there had to be something else. Pharma was lying, hiding something - maybe even a bogey for the DJD to sneak into Cybertron with.

Prowl resolved to speak with Pharma later. It was bound to be an interesting conversation. “Reserve some time for me,” he said out loud, letting the recorder in the room pick up, “and make a note - arrange a talk with the doctor soon.”

He looked away from the ugly ship settling down in the yard.

Perhaps, he should feel a little guilty. Then again, if Prowl let himself feel guilty for everyone of his victims, he would be apologizing to this entire city twice over.

His apology could be him saving them from their own mistakes.

 

-x-

 

The fanfare that would have greeted Pharma quickly became much more hush-hush. The coffin that contained Tarn was whisked down to the hospital set up, while the medical team that would be working on him greeted Pharma.

They were… not what he was expecting. The nurse who would be assisting was a pretty-faced morsel, with large, bright optics and delicate look. A bleeding spark NAIL, who wanted to help. The actual doctor followed behind and his optics were below both their waists. Glit sat neatly, tail curled around him, and stared up at Pharma, unimpressed. On his feline chest, a purple badge gleamed.

“This it?” he asked in a surprisingly deep baritone, “Hmph. Brought down Tarn? Pff.”

“Hello,” the pretty-faced nurse said, sticking a servo out, “I’m Radia.”

 

The procedure of being reintroduced to Cybertron was not as spectacular as Pharma pictured. Tarn’s coffin was hauled out of his hands quicker than he could even introduce himself, and he’d been lead somewhere that was supposed to be a hospital but seemed more like a tent at the back of a field. Nothing here was at his standard, personnel included. 

Finally, the medical team arrived. A NAIL who was entirely too pretty for his taste and a Decepticon. Hah. Hacks. Amateurs. Neither of them could hope to match Pharma, but he’d have to play his part well if he intended not to be discovered for his true intentions.

“Pharma. Pleasure to meet you.”

Normal social graces weren’t forgotten, but he was reluctant to adhere to them now. He didn’t shake his servo, holding his own up.

“Delicate hands. I assume you two are  _ assisting _ ?”

 

“Leading.” Glit grunted. “You think you’re touching that frame? Hah.”

Radia seized Pharma’s servo, and shook it vigorously. “What Glit  _ means _ to say,” he assured, “is that it’s simply procedure. We just want to minimize the chance of bias and all, I hope you understand. Of course, I am sure you’re a wonderful medic regardless.”

He let go and Radia’s smile grew wider. “It can’t be  _ that _ bad,” he said, “it’s just a body. How bad can it be?”

“I’m going,” Glit announced. His tail swished behind him as he paced towards where Tarn was being kept. “Hurry up before I drop him in a smelter.”

“Well?” Radia asked. “Let’s go.”

As it turned out, Glit had been given personal permission from Ratchet to lead jobs. Despite his… nature, he was a perfectly capable medic. In this case, however, he was not operating. Radia was.

“I’m being trained,” Radia explained, “it’s all very exciting -”

“Can’t go wrong with this big ugly glitch,” Glit said, seated on a high-legged chair that let him oversee everything. “You could drop a wrench in ‘im and no one’ll miss it.”

 

Pharma bristled at the thought of another medic putting his servos on Tarn, let alone dropping anything into the mech’s internals. He followed Glit and tried to keep Radia at bay, ignoring the bright-optic student. Nurses were still all of the same ilk, tiresome and clueless. Competence was a rare gift and not shared by many.

Still. He had to be patient.

“I do hope you read the request I put in for further research. I don’t want the frame disturbed or taken apart, so whatever you plan to examine, you better do it carefully.”

 

“Further research?” Glit jabbed his tail at Tarn’s still face. “The only research you can do is figure out why no one’s offed this git sooner.”

“Glit,  _ please -” _

“Shut up, Radia,” the doctor huffed. He laid down on his paws. “Now, what we’re going to do won’t be invasive, so tight-screws over there won’t get his wings in a tangle over it. No cutting, unfortunately. Could take a trophy from this.”

Glit instructed Radia into several, simple tasks. He did a full-body frame scan, inspected his lines, plugged in to see if any data could be accessed, and so on. Glit added colorful commentary along the way as they worked.

“See that rust? Disgusting.”

“Inner energon, of course, fragging lunatic.”

“Look at the state of that plating. Guess some ‘cons forgot the way to the ‘fresher.”

“No wonder he hid his face, look at this mess.”

Radia wiped Tarn’s face clean. The black grafts on his face had several tears in it from when Tarn scratched, forgetting it was there. Glit tutted as he examined it with his paws. “What kind of shoddy job… this is a temporary patch-up.”

On Glit’s order, Radia peeled it back. Glit made a noise of disgust at the sight. “Ugh, terminal deep rust’s setting in there. See that, Radia? That’s what you get from these warframe fraggers who think scars are nice to carry around. Bet that itched like a glitch. Nasty.”

 

Every instinct to cut Glit’s fuel lines with a scalpel had to be suppressed as Pharma oversaw their work. Tarn’s face, peaceful and grey, was beautiful. Even with the scar, the rust, he was a splendid-looking mech and how dare this hideous beastformer have anything to say about it.

“You’re no prize yourself, Decepticon.” he commented, not at all shy about his anti-con mentality. He made a mental note to purge Tarn’s frame of rust before he reanimated him. Not just the parts in frequent use.

“Are you finished yet? I said not to take him apart.”

 

Glit idly scratched himself with a hind paw. “You’re being awfully insistent on that,” he commented, “what, wanna have a go at ugly here?”

Radia yelped as Glit’s swinging tail struck his servo, making him drop a wipe on Tarn. “Sides, command’s probably thinking of taking him,” he shrugged. “Y’know, that voice? It’s a pretty weapon. Might open up his vocalizer, get a look at what’s mutated in there and see if it’s replicable.”

His ear twitched before Glit laid down again. He eyed Pharma, amused by the slight anger he was exhibiting. “Might just take him apart anyway. Radia?”

“Er, yes?”

“You can do non-invasive surgeries, can’t you?”

“Uh -”

“I know I taught you this.”

“Yes?”

“Maybe a little peek inside, nothing cutting, just using manual releases and latches, shouldn’t be a problem. Do it.”

Radia glanced at Pharma.

 

“Amateur.” Pharma growled, entirely aware that he was ready to dismember these two if they made so much as a scratch on Tarn’s plating. His possessive jealousy had flared out of control and his spark was pulsing with anger. Keeping it together was hardly in the realm of possible.

“The talent doesn’t originate from the vocalizer, you uncultured lout. Did you even study? Of course not, even a trainee medic would know that frequency modulation has to be based on the spark pattern itself, which is no longer existent, in case that slipped by your notice. I have faced this mech, endured that talent myself. If anyone has any  _ questions  _ about it, they won’t be answered by this frame, they’ll be answered by my memories. You clearly have  _ no idea _ what you’re doing.”

 

“Thank you for your incisive, insightful commentary, Doctor Pharma,” Glit drawled. “Radia, you heard the mech. It’s the spark that’s fancy, open ‘im up.”

Technically, he wasn’t breaking the rule. Spark chamber examination wasn’t invasive under medical law and Radia opened everything up according to rules, finding releases that made Tarn’s chest open up like a bulky, armored flower. Glit’s tail flicked as he observed it open up.

“See that?” he pointed with a paw. “That hole. The crazy ‘cons used to take out pieces of their spark chamber and make their badge with it. Now, see the other stuff? Discolorations and the like - prolonged spark stress, that. Ugly’s been under pressure for a long time.”

“Do I… keep going?”

“Mm? Yeah.”

With a click, the chamber opened up. Radia peered in, and gasped. “There’s… light!”

Glit also peered in. “No, idiot. That’s just residue. Outliers get ‘em, sometimes. Give it some time in the air, it’ll fade on it’s own.”

 

Pharma felt more helpless rage build up. That light, the residue, that was Tarn’s only chance at life again, and every second that these idiots would look at it with their dumb faces, it would grow weaker. He stepped closer, even though he was only supposed to observe. He knew exactly how Tarn’s frame worked and how the manual releases functioned, so he reached past his abdominal plating and fingered the tiniest lever. The chestplate snapped close, spark chamber spiralling together tightly again.

“Idiots. That’s fragile. Do you know how rare outliers are? Honestly, what was command thinking, letting you two clumsy fools perform an examination? You can just scan the sparkchamber instead of gawking at it like a two-bit chopshop butcher.”

Pharma flattened his hand over the sparkchamber, protectively.

“I won’t let my work be ruined by talentless hicks.”

 

Glit’s tail flicked. “Alright, doctor,” he said, not sounding at all offended for being insulted. He had been called far, far worse. “You can keep your fancy dead mech. Radia, get back. Think we’re done here for the time being. Unless you wanna brawl for the rights?”

Radia shrunk back. “No?”

“Shame. Would be a pretty sight,” Glit sighed. “Right. Ugly can be put in the morgue until someone digs him out. As for you,  _ doctor _ , you got an appointment.”

His tail curled around Pharma’s wrist tightly, then loosened. “Prowl’s been asking you come over after you’re done,” Glit said, “so - shoo. Don’t worry, Tarn and his pretty face will be waiting here. Unless the ten other medics here fighting for the right to poke around his internals nabs him before you do. Move quick before command gets impatient.”

 

If that was the case, Pharma would murder every last one of them. With that image projected in his helm, he smiled at Glit, condescending, calculating and cold.

“I’ll hold you personally responsible if some part of him goes missing before I return.”

It was tough to leave Tarn behind, the mech was the only one who knew Pharma and could be his company, but it was necessary. Prowl was to be dealt with.

_ Prowl. _

Oh, Pharma would get his due vengeance. That mech was personally responsible for making Pharma’s life a living hellscape.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Prowl waited in his office, thoroughly ignoring the five sad Constructicons hovering outside. He was expectant and prepared, almost predatory despite the coldness of his demeanor. Pharma would soon meet the mech who’d made him fall so low, and he would learn that Prowl regretted nothing.

Long Haul shuffled out of the way to let Pharma enter. Prowl looked up briefly and waved him in. “So. You’re alive.”

 

“No thanks to you or anyone else at command.”

Pharma stalked across the room, wingtips flattened back so they wouldn't flutter in agitation. Mentally, he was deciding on how best to strangle the life out of Prowl.

He smiled pointedly.

 

“You are upset. Most are.” Prowl sighed. “I suppose you are bitter that you were left behind without being told, and am now here to give me a scorching analysis on why you, a single medic, should have been saved over everyone else.”

Prowl leaned back against his chair, laced his fingers together, and pinned Pharma with a calculating look. “Instead, you somehow, fantastically, managed to kill Tarn and the DJD, and escape with his ship back to Cybertron. I’d say everything worked out wonderfully.”

_ Who are you? _ he wondered.  _ Are you even an Autobot anymore? _

“Do you know why you are here?”

 

“I imagine for you to give me some form of explanation as to why I was sent to Delphi in the first place, but I am not interested in that.”

Pharma sneered, sitting down and folding one leg over the other. He didn’t care why Prowl had thought him expendable. He didn’t care about the war or strategies. He’d been personally picked to die, and he had not done Prowl the favor of doing so. 

“I want to get to work. I imagine my skills could be well-used on Cybertron now.”

 

“Ideally, yes. Unfortunately, the situation is not so ideal.” Prowl eyed Pharma. “You cannot think your story is flawless, do you? You, kill the DJD?  _ Hm _ .”

From a cabinet in his desk, he pulled out a thin slate. He pushed it over to Pharma. “That is the compiled - and now public - records of every Autobot attempt against the DJD. Assassination. Infiltration. Bribery. There’s more. All failed. These were attempts by mecha far more capable, skilled, and adaptable than you, which is why your story about how you… heroically… vanquished the DJD to be woefully fantastical at best.”

Prowl crossed his legs as well. “I’d like to be convinced, before I decide you are too suspicious to be free.”

 

Pharma blinked in outrage. 

“ _ I’m suspicious?” _

He probably was, given that he was a delicate medic with no track record of combat and yet he’d turned up with a shipful of dead Decepticon executioners. Well. That was bound to raise some questions, but Pharma was offended to hear them from a mech who left him for dead in the first place.

“Perhaps your previous methods of ending the DJD were all too simple-minded to be successful. It was no easy feat, but I put my mind to it, and I have already presented you with the evidence. It wasn’t easy to gain Tarn’s favor enough for him to allow me close enough to kill him, and your lack of help certainly didn’t advance that cause.”

His breath hitched, as if the matter was upsetting him. It was, but not in the way he’d portray it.

“The things that mech did to me...they were depraved. And I endured them, thinking someone would surely come to help me. Yet you couldn’t even find it in your dead spark to do anything to help an entire clinic and mining facility once.  _ You’re the one _ who should be under suspicion.”

 

“Spare me the dramatics,” Prowl said flatly. “You offered yourself as an interfacing partner to Tarn, who, against all the odds, accepted. That’s been tried too, doctor. You can go to page fifty-three on your pad to see the state he’s left the three agents who tried in.”

Dismemberment seemed to be a favorite of Tarn’s.

“Let’s assume I believe your tale,” Prowl said. “Can you write a report on it? It needs to be detailed. I don’t care how depraved he was, it needs to be written. Every act, every brutality, all detailed down to how long it lasted. Can you do that?”

Prowl didn’t believe him. Tarn had a history of ignoring such things, and why should Pharma be any special? He had to be lying. Had to be.

 

“I can. It’s unpleasant, but I can see the necessity of it.” Pharma had plenty of colorful stories to tell on Tarn, and none of them had to include Pharma’s active and willing participation. Interfacing with Tarn was spectacular, but in the beginning, it had been a challenge to accept himself with this brute. A small twinge reminded him that every second he spent not reanimating Tarn was one less spent with him. Already, Pharma despised everyone he met on Cybertron. He longed for company that understood him.

“Is that it? You want to sift through a lengthy report of rape and abuse before you can believe that I am here, having survived all of it?”

 

“Yes.” Prowl’s helm tilted. “Don’t worry, doctor, once your story is verified, you can be welcomed as the hero as you deserve. Free drinks, willing mecha, all that you want. But until then…” his optics glinted. “...we must be cautious.”

He would find his lies, soon enough.

“There are other matters as well. Given Optimus is currently indisposed and Bumblebee is gone, your request for research falls to me. You want Tarn’s corpse. A strange thing, for a victim to want to keep their abuser’s corpse for - ah,  _ research _ .”

 

“Is it?” Pharma knew that this was a noose, being laid around his neck, but he’d gotten out of tighter spots than this before. Prowl had no idea whom he was dealing with now. Pharma wasn’t the ignorant, well-mannered medic that had left Cybertron with hopes of running a successful clinic. Pharma was an expert at playing games, and Prowl would find himself outmatched.

“I find it soothing and therapeutic. To examine him and make him part of my work, my future, even though he took so much for me. His death is my balm, and his corpse will ease my nightmares. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

 

“Very touching. Make sure to mention that in your write-up.”

Prowl flicked his pen, looking considering. “I am of a mind to assign him to someone else entirely,” he revealed. “After all, such a respected member of our community should have time to heal and recover away from Tarn and his memories. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to work on him. Especially given how Glit reported your temperament to be in regards to the frame.”

He read out loud the report that’d come to him just before Pharma’s arrival. “ _ Appears to be emotionally attached, was visibly disturbed as the body was examined. May need psychological assessment _ . Do you agree with this, doctor? Do you think that what Tarn did you has had lasting affects on your psyche?”

 

“Potentially. But they are in no shape hindering me from my work.” Pharma grit his denta silently. That damned examination had been a test and he should have seen it coming. It wasn’t about Tarn, it was about him.

“I’d be very ad-versed if Tarn’s remains were assigned to someone else. It would deprive me of closure and it would set back any work done on a number of research projects. No one else has the knowledge I have regarding his vocal talent and his outlier spark proportions. I daresay you would hinder scientific progress by removing me from his case.”

Not to mention Pharma could feel a lump form in his throat that screamed he cut Prowl to ribbons at the mere suggestion.

 

“You know of his ability and his spark? I thought you were merely one of his victims. Has something…  _ more _ been happening?”

Prowl noted Pharma’s distress as the thought of being separated from the corpse. Which was definitely a corpse, according to Glit. It was no fake, no clever ruse - it was Tarn, dead. It was why Prowl was so perplexed with Pharma. Was there no ploy at all, but rather, a ‘victim’ trying to lie about what  _ really _ happened?

He wanted the truth. If it was something to hold over Pharma’s helm, even better, A medic of his talents was a useful asset to have.

 

“He used it to torture me.” Pharma snapped, just barely keeping a lid on the hot mess of his regurgitated emotions. He tried to cling to the feeling of when he’d first killed Tarn, and use every ounce of bile to speak of him in such a way.

“I killed him with a spark muting agent. I watched him die, I watched his spark go out. I know more about him than anyone looking at his corpse could ever hope to learn. And I won’t let my pain and suffering go to waste just because you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

His hands were clenched into fists, hard enough to make the delicate joints ache.

 

“He used his  _ spark _ to torture you?” Prowl pushed for more, sensing the cracks in the story. “That will also have to go in the write-up, then. So things between you and him progressed to the point that sparkplay became regular enough for you to kill him with it? Interesting.”

There it was again - that claim over Tarn. Was Pharma even aware of it? Prowl could not say.

“What about the bodies of the other DJD members?” he probed. “What happened to them?”

 

“Spark muting agent.” Pharma could at least patch that together as a coherent reason for death.

“Their corpses were on the ship too, as I reported, though none of them were outliers and therefore, less interesting for research. Once I had Tarn’s trust...It was not so difficult to poison them with the agent. Mecha have a habit of underestimating medics.”

 

“Tarn’s trust,” Prowl repeated. “You had his trust, as you say. The trust of a notoriously suspicious, zealous, unreasonable,  _ dangerous _ mech infamous for his hatred of Autobots and high castes.”

Prowl set his pen down with a  _ click _ and leaned forward. His chin rested on his steepled fingers. “Tell me the truth now, doctor. Did you, perhaps… form a connection? It’s not so unusual in these cases. You think you know them, you feel some rapport, you even… begin to  _ enjoy _ , shall we say, some of what you do. Was that it, Pharma? Your relationship with Tarn - did you like it?”

 

“Of course not.” Pharma’s optics should have cut right through Prowl and his defensiveness had his turbine whine. 

“It was necessary, but it was foul. His ideals, his methods...he was a cruel sociopath and I had to pretend I could feel...for him. Is that what you’re asking? If I enjoyed pretending that I could feel attachment for a mech with no compulsion about killing me and my staff in an instant?”

 

“So now, your story goes from abuse and rape to a false relationship. And for Tarn to have trusted you as much as he allegedly did, it must have been a… loving relationship. Quite a loving one. Tender, even. Do abusers commonly trust their victims?”

Prowl watched Pharma evenly. “Or, perhaps, maybe it was abuse at first. Maybe he  _ did _ rape you. And then you… pretended? You pretended to like it, and Tarn came around. Was that it, doctor?”

 

“That is a fairly adequate description, yes. It started out...vile. And then he entertained the notion that I might be a companion rather than a mere victim. I saw my chance. I swallowed my pride and revulsion, and did what I had to do. What no one else could have done.”

Pharma felt his spark spasm and he had to turn on his fans in order to cycle some tension away. 

“I took no pleasure in acting out a false relationship with that Decepticon. I knew my life was at risk at every turn. It was terrifying.”

 

“But thank Primus you were good enough of an actor to fool Tarn.” Prowl smirked, but it did not reach his optics. “When was his death, exactly? And what happened to Delphi, since then? I admit, I am curious as to how the chief doctor of a clinic can uphold his duties while maintaining a relationship with someone as jealous and intense as Tarn.”

 

“The two did not go hand in hand. It was difficult. Tarn’s...demands were hardly material to share with my staff. I did not wish for them to be concerned, or try to protect me. It would have put their lives at risk and it was my job to keep them safe.”

Oh, Pharma could twist this tale for the gods. Delphi was gone and there’d be no evidence of what happened. Except for the corpses, and those, he could explain away.

“His jealousy, as you so rightly seem to have read about, did extend to them. And...it was why Delphi was destroyed. The DJD...I think it was a virus. I didn’t have much time to examine what happened to my patients and staff, all I saw of them was their demise. A horrible, reprehensible plague. I wish I knew where they’d found it, but Tarn never did tell me. He kept his professional secrets very secret from me.”

Just in case Delphi was investigated, he’d cover his tracks.

“He died not long after that. I couldn’t live with what they’d done to my poor staff. Ambulon, First Aid, the patients...I had to do it for them.”

 

“And thus, you managed to kill every member of the DJD at once.” What a neat little story, completely lacking witnesses or countering views. Somehow, Pharma had been so unutterably desirable that Tarn practically let himself be killed.

“Maybe then you can elaborate on this.” From his subspace, Prowl pulled out a small petri dish. On it, a scrap of black material lay. “Temporary grafting material, typically used as short term wound blockage until more permanent options are available. Why was this on him?”

 

“I wasn’t privy to all of his medical procedures. I imagine it was a temporary application to his face.”

Pharma knew there was nothing in the black metal that some other medic couldn’t have manufactured. He’d always been paranoid, and Prowl looked to be giving him plenty of justification for his meticulous work.

“Just like I wasn’t privy or party to any of Decepticon-related business. Our relationship was strictly founded on pleasurable principles.”

 

“Hm, yes. What I am curious about is why the graft is so damaged. If it was to fix something, you would think he would not pick at it so much. For that matter, he had his mask on most of the time, yet this happens.” Prowl considered the black material within. “Maybe he did not wear his mask as often as thought. Can you enlighten me on that, given your close relationship with him?”

 

“Is that important? Whether or not he wore his mask? He took it off sometimes, to...kiss and such.” Pharma turned his helm away. He didn’t feel any shame, much the opposite. He remembered the kisses with fondness, and relished their memory. He longed for Tarn already, and it had barely been a day.

“He had a scar. Rusted, on his face. I don’t know how he got it. Perhaps this was an attempt at covering it.”

 

“Then where is his mask?” Prowl let the dish rest between them. “You killed him on his ship. Why is the mask not with him, then?”

The longer he questioned Pharma, the more holes there were in his story. Everyone at the clinic was dead. The miners were not present. The rest of the DJD was dead. It was all just so  _ convenient _ .

 

“I imagine it's still on the ship. He didn't recharge with it on, and that's when I struck.”

Pharma was beginning to grow nervous. Prowl could keep him wrapped up in an interrogation for weeks if he wanted to and Tarn's reanimation would grow riskier by the day.

“Did you ever record for the public that I was sent to Messatine to be tortured and killed by Tarn, by the way? I don't want to slip and say the wrong thing.”

 

“You can say what you want,” Prowl countered, “but given your story is shakier than Starscream’s leadership, I am not overly concerned.”

Still on the ship? Prowl would have to comb it over later. When it, most likely, turned out to be missing, it would only strengthen his suspicions.

“Now, Pharma. I think I have been very patient with you. The more you lie, the faster I will find out the truth. So either you tell me what  _ really _ happened, or you find yourself in an uncomfortable position.”

Prowl pressed a button on the underside of his desk. For a few minutes, surveillance would see nothing. Not uncommon, in a city being rebuilt. Black-outs could be  _ such  _ an annoyance. 

“A medic of your skill would be a useful addition to this next stage of the war,” Prowl said. “You can stand to gain much if you come clean. If not… you make an enemy of me. You cannot expect this…  _ fanciful _ story to hold up enough for you to regain a footing here. It will fall apart. Whether I catch you when it does, or whether I am the one to  _ make _ it fall apart - is up to you.”

 

“You're threatening me. This is the thanks I get for surviving to tell the story. You're reprehensible, Prowl. I have no interest in working for you, I despise your very existence. You ought to be in prison for what you did to me.” Pharma hissed, immediately dropping his tone to ice. Actually, prison was far too forgiving. Prowl would be first on his list. Prowl would die. 

“You can comb the ship. Fly to Messatine and pick apart my clinic. You won't find anything to contradict what I told you. You can threaten me all you want but ultimately, you can't touch me.”

 

“We’ll see,” Prowl said. “You’re clearly under stress, Pharma, after everything that’s happened to you. I would strongly recommend seeing a therapist to discuss your ordeals while you acclimatize to life here. Furthermore, given the results of this talk, I think it would be best for your mental health if Tarn was confiscated from you. I do this for your sake, Pharma.”

Prowl sat back. A twinge of regret entered his gaze before it was glossed over by cool distance. “You may leave,” he said, dismissing him. “Hook - show him the way out.”

 

“I'm not done with you.” Pharma didn't move just yet, anger boiling to the surface. He did not come back to Cybertron just to be put back down and stripped of his most potent weapon; Tarn was his. And he had to get him back.

“Give me the body. I'll consider your unsavoury offer. But give me Tarn's body.” 

 

Prowl’s raised servo stopped the Constructicon at the door. Interest lit up his optics. “That works,” he acquiesced. “I can give you limited access for your consideration. Once that becomes acceptance, the body is all yours, regardless of what you might intend with it.”

 

“Fine. If that's what it takes.” Pharma sighed, angrily, as he got to his pedes. He could always sabotage Prowl, and it might be easier to plan his death if he was closer to his plans.

“What I intend with it is none of your concern. You wouldn't understand it in the first place, with a processor like yours.”

 

“I should hope not,” Prowl drawled. “Now go. The… body… will be made available to you.”

He didn’t want to know any more than that. What Pharma wanted with it was strictly his own business.

 

-x-

 

Tarn’s frame was interred in the morgue, which was in one of the first buildings to go up since New Iacon was built. For Pharma, the body had been taken to a separate room from the rest, left open for him to examine as he saw fit.

Well, that was the excuse Prowl made for him. What he actually did with it was something no one wanted to witness.

Tarn’s cheeks were lightly frosted from his stay in the cold. His plating was chilled and now exposed to the air, covered in mild condensation. He was grey, still, and silent, as he had been since he entered the coffin at Pharma’s behest.

 

Pharma didn't begin with the meat of the procedure right away. Instead, he dedicated his first four days to replacing what was rusted and weak within Tarn. Every piece that would make Tarn lesser once he lived again was re-plated. His face lost the rest of the graft and the rust was scraped off of the scarring of his plate. Optics could finally become a matched pair again in the appropriate shade of red. Tarn was polished and fuelled and patched up better than he ever had been when he was alive.

Pharma spoke with him, caressed him, kissed him. As soon as possible, he wanted his company again. Even if he had to pretend to work for Prowl, Tarn was a worthy reward.

It was another long night when he got started on Tarn's spark. His own flooded the room with blue as he carefully opened Tarn's chamber, embracing the residue lovingly. Soon, they would be together again.

 

The blue plasma of Pharma’s spark touched the sparkling green residue that was all that was left of Tarn, and ignited them. It was a messy, uncomfortable process, one that required patience and care from Pharma as the residue was a little more reluctant to take light this time around.

However, he had it down pat. Within minutes, new light flared within Tarn’s chest, alive and flickering, and he seized as his body caught up.

Awakening was just as uncomfortable as the first time. Tarn felt exposed, bleary, and muggy, and needed a few moments to find his bearings. When he saw Pharma above him, he blinked, as if trying to remember who he was.

“...Pharma?” he asked hoarsely, the mixed light of the remade spark in his chest glowing. Color was coming back to him and the disturbing stillness of the corpse melted away.

 

“Welcome back, love,” Pharma smiled at Tarn as he drew his spark away a fraction. Tarn's flickered a little too dangerously for him to be comfortable though and so he let his own flick out its tendrils of plasma to continue holding Tarn's reignited spark. Better safe than sorry.

“We did it. We're on Cybertron.”

 

Tarn vented slowly and water streamed out of him as the last of the frost in his systems melted. He was heating up back to his usual levels and as more time passed, he began to look more and more alive. His spark was even bluer than before, but it was supporting him nonetheless.

“...Good,” he said, still trying to get his wits about himself. Relife was like coming out of a long, uncomfortable stasis. Tarn had kinks in places he didn’t know he even had cables. “Where, exactly? How long?”

He shook his helm. “Lord Megatron - have you seen him?”

 

“On the news. His trial will begin soon.” Pharma pulled his spark back once Tarn’s was saturated with plasma, and locked up his chamber. The fact that Tarn’s green was more tainted with blue now seemed like a point of concern. If Tarn lost his outlier properties, he wouldn’t be able to make use of his voice talent and he’d be a handsome paperweight.

“It’s been a week since we arrived. You’ve been examined, pronounced dead and eventually, returned to my servos. Just as planned,” Pharma patted his face, before leaning in and kissing him quickly. It was much better when he was warm and those optics were burning.

 

Tarn caught Pharma and kissed him back, pleased that he’d kept his promise. “Trial?” he said afterwards. “Why is he being tried? That’s not - no, that should not happen. Something must be done.”

Tarn struggled up, even though his limbs still felt cold and numb, and clambered out of the coffin. Water sluiced down his frame as he examined it. It felt… better. Fresher. Stronger. Was it just him, or was his paint new? Did his movement feel freer, just a little smoother?

“I must go to him,” Tarn said.

 

“That’s not going to happen.” Pharma avoided getting splashed as he let his gaze travel over Tarn’s frame. Better, stronger, more vital. Maybe he was getting better with the reanimation, because the first time around, Tarn had been a shambling mess, hardly a vision of strength.

“I’m going to have to hide you, carefully. And smelt the pieces of your frame I removed...Prowl is going to be very suspicious of me, but I got what I needed from him.”

Pharma knew he’d have to address the Megatron thing eventually, but Tarn’s remaining compulsion coding would prevent him from taking off and disobeying Pharma.

“You’ll have to be patient. They gave me a habsuite, that’s where we’re going, right now. Here,” Pharma attached a small, flat disk to Tarn’s chestplate, “perception disruptor. Should get you through the door and the crowds without a problem.”

Pharma took his servo and began to lead him out. He wanted to curl up with his reanimated lover and forget the hoops he had to jump through.

 

“No, Pharma, don’t you  _ get _ it?” He seized his shoulders, and gave him a light shake. “This is our chance to  _ save _ Lord Megatron. We can - we can take him out, get him free, and he will reward us for our service. We must act  _ now _ , while they remain unsuspecting.”

Tarn looked around the room they were in. It was mostly bare, with a few small closets that contained medical supplies and cleaning equipment. He paced like a caged beast, thinking feverishly. “Have you done any research?” he asked, “Did you find out where he is? We could move quickly and get him out before it comes to a trial. This is our  _ chance _ .”

 

“Tarn.  _ Stop. _ ”

Pharma was sneering, completely put off by Tarn’s immediate concern for his former lord. Megatron was supposed to be phased out of his mind, a traitor, a blight on his past. Pharma was supposed to be all he cared for and worshipped, though they had not quite reached that stage just yet.

“I am not risking my life for Megatron. He will get what he deserves, a quick guilty verdict and hopefully, a triple tap. He betrayed you, remember? You are not going to save him.”

No, Pharma had more personal plans for Tarn, and none of them involved pulling a war criminal out of the fire.

 

Tarn stopped, as ordered, and then stared at Pharma. His expression fell as he remembered the unfortunate truth. Tarn’s shoulders slumped. He still did not want to believe it -  _ could not _ believe it. To believe it was to lose a fundamental pillar of his life, and to lose his purpose as well.

“It has to be something else,” Tarn insisted. “It can’t be… not, it is  _ not _ . Pharma, I  _ need _ to do this.”

His expression grew mulish. Tarn set his shoulders. “It must be done,” he insisted, “Let  _ me _ do it, if you are so reluctant.”

 

“I won’t.” Pharma could be stubborn too, and if Tarn wanted to risk his hard work, he wasn’t going to persuade Pharma to allow it. All Pharma had to do was command Tarn to stay in his hab until the trial was over and Megatron was dead. That’s all it would take, and it was an easy feat once Pharma could move the mech to his apartment.

“Megatron deserves to die. You seem to have forgotten the terms of our arrangement.”

 

“I never agreed to let him die,” Tarn spat, growing angry. His internal temperature rose and the water on him became steam that hissed as it rose off his plating. The soft  _ shhhh _ of the steam was the only sound in the room for a moment. “I want  _ proof _ , Pharma, not hearsay and easily falsified evidence. You cannot keep me from finding out.”

Tarn clenched his fists then looked over his renewed frame. It felt strong - strong enough to fight and even  _ win _ . If he could have his power on his side, then the scales would be balanced in his favor. It wouldn’t take long. Now, if only Pharma saw reason. “I can do it,” he said, “but you must allow me to. You know what I am capable of, you know what I can do. It won’t be a challenge.”

 

“I do not have to allow you anything. I won’t. I forbid it! You would be killed if anyone saw you, and I would land in prison. I’m not risking anything just so that you can get your peace of mind from a worthless mech that abandoned you.” 

Pharma was at the limit of his patience. Tarn’s obsession with Megatron would dull once the mech was no longer able to answer his questions.

“ _ You will do nothing to contact Megatron or interfere with his imprisonment.” _

 

“ _ No _ !” Tarn lunged for Pharma, his anger flaring out of his control. He grabbed him, harder than he meant to, and dented his armor as a result. Tarn ignored it, however, and growled at Pharma in a temper reminiscent of when he had been alive and magnificent in his rages.

“Rescind that,” he snarled, “you do  _ not _ take this from me!” His voice echoed in the room and Tarn’s engine backed it up, roaring furiously. His optics sparked, his plating flared, and Tarn was  _ livid _ .

Pain shot through him as Tarn wrenched Pharma up by his arm, lifting him off the ground. No direct attack came from him - yet - but the threat hung in the air. Tarn hissed, “Must I find a way around your orders to  _ hurt _ you? Rescind. It!”

 

It surprised Pharma that Tarn already had enough power in him to almost rebel against the compulsion coding that would keep him from hurting Pharma. It was a chilling thought to think it might break and the mech could be free to destroy what Pharma had put together so well.

“Stop it Tarn! I told you that you belonged to me, it is your fault if you thought I didn’t mean that. Megatron is as good as gone, he’ll get a guilty verdict and be gone and there’s nothing you’re going to do about it.”

He couldn’t leave Tarn here. He needed to be moved into Pharma’s habsuite, no matter what.

“Now... _ transform and follow me to my hab  _ before your screaming alerts everyone.”

 

Tarn opened his mouth to snarl back, but the coding took over. He let go of Pharma and transformed, but was begrudging every step of the way. He said no more, even as his treads trembled with visible rage. Somehow, Tarn managed to express anger even in alt-mode, which was impressive.

Sullen, he was silent.

 

Pharma’s new hab was smaller than Tarn’s quarters. It was in a part of Iacon that had seen some restoration take place around some structures that outlasted the war. Old and new mixed in ways that didn’t harmonize and Pharma hated every part of it. Luckily, at least the population was select. Medics, scientists, all former members of the intellectual caste were living here. If it weren’t for the perception disruptor, Tarn would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

Pharma had been silent for the entire journey and that didn’t look to change. His berth was sized for him, so Tarn would have a tough time finding a position to rest in that didn’t put him on the floor. Not to mention that besides the fresher and the living room, there was no additional space. Tarn’s bulk would be very much forced into an idle existence in here until Pharma could claw his way up through the new society.

“You can transform back. But keep your voice down.”

Pharma threw himself on his sofa, exhausted from the reanimation. This wasn’t nearly as triumphant as he’d pictured it to be. Tarn could only obsess over Megatron, Prowl was breathing down his neck and he’d not yet gotten any information on getting a job. He’d pictured it differently. Pharma tucked his legs up and turned on the holoscreen. He should be on there, as a celebrated hero. He’d brought down the DJD, wasn’t anyone going to make a big deal out of him? 

It was all so spark-wrenchingly disappointing.

“Sit with me.”

 

Tarn transformed slowly, resentfully, and glared at Pharma from the entrance for longer than was necessary. Rather than obey immediately, he prowled around the rooms, looking through each one with a keen, critical optic.

“We had more space on the Tyranny,” Tarn said finally. He was scowling, clearly disapproving. “We had much better fuel. Better furnishing. I hope Cybertron was worth it.”

With that jab, Tarn found a space for himself in the living room. The sofa, he tested. When it threatened to bend under his weight, Tarn sat on the floor with a huff instead. The Peaceful Tyranny had reinforced furniture as well. Not so much here.

 

“The Tyranny is still being stripped. I put in a request for a ground position.” Pharma would love to return to the Tyranny and use it as his home. It was spacious, it was elegant and he had earned it by killing Tarn. So what if the ship’s shape was a Decepticon zealot’s mad dream?

Pharma missed the dark comforts of its stolen luxuries. He drew his legs up so he could lean his arms on his knees as he stared at the screen.

“You seem stronger than when I brought you back last. Maybe the key was proximity after all.”

 

“Stripped,” Tarn said, disgusted by the notion. “They will remove everything about it that made it mine. It will be nothing but a shell with an engine - you can kiss your luxuries good-bye, because it will have been snatched for Starscream’s petty ambitions.” Tarn took the remote and changed the channel to distract himself from the thought that  _ Starscream _ , of all people, was the leader of this city.

If there was any god in this world, he was laughing at all of them. “I would have preferred to be in space with you,” Tarn said, “Maybe this could have been avoided if you’d agreed.”

What was he to become then? A kept mech smuggled into a hab, unable to even walk outside for fear of conviction? What did Pharma think he was - a damn berth warmer?

 

“And what would I do in space? Travel? See other worlds? I wanted to come home, Tarn.”

Home was not all he expected it to be. His friends, long-lost contacts, were not the mecha walking around here. He recognized a few, but none he ever saw optic to optic with. Home was still broken and empty and maybe Pharma had come back far too soon. He should have given Cybertron time to settle and flourish and fester into another golden age before gracing it with his presence.

He felt cold. Unreasonably so, considering the hab was heated, but he slid off of the sofa and leaned against Tarn instead.

“I’d get lonely in space.”

He was already lonely on Cybertron. Lonely and dangerously bored by having no work. If it continued...maybe he’d make something happen.

 

“You had me,” Tarn said, because was it not true? Had he not been a constant at Pharma’s side, being everything he wanted and more? What did Cybertron have, save unknown faces and muddled secrets? Begrudgingly, he lifted his arm to let Pharma settle in closer against him.

“This isn’t  _ home _ ,” he said, “it stopped being home two million years ago. You should have dropped that sentimentality.”

Pharma was moved to sit between Tarn’s legs. He watched the holo for a few moments before sighing. His irritation was waning, but he would not forget Pharma’s angry, desperate words against his rage. He needed to save his lord. He  _ had _ to. “This is what the Autobot victory amounts to, Pharma,” he said lowly, “are you surprised? They left you once. They do so again, a second time. If the Decepticons had won… this would not have happened. We would not be living in a  _ box _ , hiding and mincing away from the public. You could have been at my side then. The Autobots will never recognize you for what you can do. They would never reward you like the Decepticons would.”

Tarn gripped Pharma’s face and tilted it to himself. “You can talk about how much you loathe and despise the Cause, but never say that we do not award merit when it is apparent. What the Autobots will punish you for, you would have been lauded for as a Decepticon.”

 

“That doesn’t matter now, does it?” Pharma let his gaze slide over Tarn’s face. At least he was still handsome, and that alleviated a little of the sudden clammy depression settling over his mind.

“Megatron surrendered. The Cause is all gone. The Decepticons are done. Even if I had wanted...to consider which side would be better. There’s only one left now. And this is the best I’m going to get.”

 

“Don’t be so myopic,” Tarn chided. “It’s not gone. It’s not done. From just what little I see, I can tell you - the Decepticons are still here, and they are still  _ angry _ .”

He pointed at the screen. Rioting Decepticons stood, their purple badges proud on their chests, arguing, fighting, rebelling. “They are not happy with the surrender,” he said, “they don’t want any of this. I can promise you - the loyal will save Lord Megatron. They will storm his cell, his trial, and they will pull him out. And the Decepticons will be back, fiercer than ever. This war does not end until we  _ win _ .”

Tarn kissed Pharma, and his servo lowered to drag over where Pharma’s badge had been once. “We can join,” he said, “we can take back what is ours. Our ship, our home, everything that we  _ deserve _ . And you can take your place at my side, and you can see why the Cause will serve you better than the Autobots ever could. You wouldn’t live like this - you would control a hospital, a research center, all of it. Your discoveries could make you one of the premier scientists alive. You could go down in history, Pharma - not as the terrified victim and survivor of the DJD, but as someone  _ great _ .”

 

Pharma listened, and he could see some vague strings attached to Tarn’s passionate words. He knew the mech was trying to influence him, but he could also see some truth to it all. 

The Decepticons did employ the mad, and praised them for it. Megatron, Tarn, Shockwave...they were all evidence that spoke for it. But Pharma could never agree with the basic sentiment, that his form did not make him superior, because he most certainly was. Pharma wasn’t naive enough to fall in love with anti-functionist sentiment. Maybe, back then, before Delphi, it would have been an easier fix to make Pharma choose another side.

Now? He was tired of the war and the difficulties it made for him, personally.

“The Decepticons were never fond of my kind. I doubt it would have been so simple,” he sighed wistfully, leaning into Tarn who was a much better alternative to the sofa, “but I like to hear what you envision. I imagine you think yourself free of my control in this scenario.”

Which would never happen. Pharma would never risk being cast aside or tortured by Tarn, again.

 

“You are with me. No one would question you, or I will kill them for it.”

Tarn wondered if he could ever convince Pharma of the wonders of the Cause. Could he ever tempted into letting go of his ignorance and embracing the truth? He hoped.

“Why are you so scared of letting me free, Pharma? Do you think I will hurt you? Leave you? You are wrong.”

 

“I don’t think so, I know so. You will leave me. Everyone does. You will go to Megatron and either you’ll be gone or you’ll die with him. You wouldn’t hesitate, and I know that. There’s always someone else, someone everyone is more attached to than me. Which is why I will never let you go. You’re mine.”

It hurt. Pharma thought he was starting to grow a little too attached to Tarn, and this just proved it. He was afraid of Tarn leaving him and being alone. This was new. Maybe it started when he set out to return to Cybertron. Maybe some part of him had known he’d never find anyone else who understood and appreciated him for who he truly was, and what he was capable of. Maybe some part of him knew what to expect and had simply not been loud enough to make Pharma consider staying away. But it was all so tiresome, wasn’t it? Holding together, planning everything to the smallest detail. Even though Pharma had chained Tarn to his side, he didn’t feel any less alone in the universe. No one would protect his interests or respect his dreams. Prowl had even seen fit to make him expendable, Tarn had seen a pretty pound of metal he wanted to frag. Ratchet had turned his back long, long ago.

 

“So you will make me your slave?” Tarn stroked Pharma’s face, lost as to how to assure him. He had never been afflicted by such a problem, knowing that the Cause would always keep him company. What did he do with someone so purposeless?

“I want to prove myself to you, but I do not know how.”

 

“I don’t either. I can’t trust anyone.” Pharma let his optics dim. The only reason Tarn was close to him was by force, and the only reason Pharma could relax with him was the compulsion coding that controlled Tarn. It was companionship without risk, and maybe it was Pharma’s newest addiction, but it wasn’t as satisfying as it could be. If Tarn, of his own free will, was capable of putting Pharma first, above any and everything...maybe things would be different.

“You said you could learn to love me. Have you?”

It was a longshot, but Pharma wanted comfort and the topic to be him, so it was a suitable question.

 

Tarn considered his words carefully. Finally he settled. “I think so,” he said slowly, “but it is a hard decision to make when I am always reminded of your control.”

A part of him would always resent Pharma for it, if he was made to stay like this. Tarn wanted to kiss and touch Pharma, knowing it was him, and not because Pharma could and had ordered it from him.

“Don't you want to be with me, Pharma?”

 

“That’s not fair.” Pharma knew exactly this was manipulation, but his memory banks were also being unhelpful and supplying him with memories of every moment Tarn had surprised him with affection, unordered to do so. And he did enjoy those moments, entirely too much. They were the reason Pharma felt justified in bringing Tarn to Cybertron when it spelled nothing but trouble for them both.

“You won’t love me if you don’t have to.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

“I can't love you if I am forced to,” he countered. “We are at an impasse then.”

He frowned. “You killed me, then forced me to kill my crew. All this, I forgave. I chose not to twist your orders and I have never attempted to kill you once. I never have, despite what you might think.”

Tarn crossed his arms. “If you rely on force, you will always wonder if I am true or not.””

 

Pharma considered it. Truly, Tarn wasn’t lying. He never had tried to find a loophole. Sure, he wanted to hurt Pharma, had been angry at him and threatened him. Especially when Pharma took from him what no other had.

But Tarn had never succeeded or persevered. And he was...a better companion when he had a mind. Pharma was stuck for choice here. Be alone on a Cybertron that didn’t trust him and was bound to discover what he’d done eventually, or...unleash Tarn.

“I’ll think about it. If...Cybertron is truly as dire as it is right now...” He needed to clear his helm. And Tarn was right here, warm, alive, ready. Pharma climbed into his lap.

“Let’s see then how your new frame holds up. Give me your spike, dear.”

 

“I thought we were discussing my freedom,” Tarn said, but wasn't exactly resisting as Pharma got on him. He touched him freely, letting his palms drag over smooth, shined plating, and considered Pharma’s offer. Was this an earnest desire, or an attempt to distract? If it was the latter, it was working marvelously.

Tarn held his aft and pushed him up higher, to where he was already heating up, and caught Pharma in a kiss, nipping his lips as he did. “You are distracting me,” he said, but he made no move to stop. In fact, he was eager.

It’d been a while since they last ‘faced. Why not celebrate his second coming with one? 

“It’s working, isn’t it?” Pharma settled himself in place, unhurried. Tarn and he could be alone for a while, at least until someone else wanted to interview him about uncomfortable truths. But that could take days, and he fully intended to lose the tension that had built up since he arrived on Cybertron with Tarn. The worst part was over, he had brought Tarn back from the dead once more, and now, he had to decide what to do with him. Interfacing was the first order on the list.

“And when we’re done, I’m going to tell you at length how I want you to kill Prowl.”

 

“We could kill everyone here if Megatron was freed,” Tarn said, but couldn’t quite gear into a full speech about the wonders of the Cause. Not when Pharma was doing  _ that _ with his hips, anyway. 

Tarn ran his servos over Pharma hungrily, touching him as if they hadn’t been in contact for years. Nothing went ignored; he kissed his neck, groped his wings, and fondled every seam he could find. Pharma had always been pleasant to simply touch - all sleek and smooth and polished, simply begging for a servo to appreciate it all.

His spike was pressurized before he even thought about it. It rubbed against Pharma’s still-closed panel, silently begging that he open up already. Tarn’s fans droned as he pushed Pharma down against his spike, relishing the pressure and friction.

 

Now this, this was what Pharma craved. It was exactly the best method to clear his mind and his panel slid open without a conscious thought. Tarn was inside of him before he could even contemplate whether or not he wanted everyone on Cybertron dead. Pharma moaned, arms wrapping around Tarn’s neck as he held himself close to the Decepticon.

“Is Megatron all you ever think about?”

 

“What?” Tarn’s attention had been taken up by the blissful feeling of sliding into Pharma. His question, out of place and awkward, brought Tarn slightly out of his daze. “Can’t we talk about this later?”

He wanted to frag Pharma, not argue about their relationship all over again. Couldn’t Pharma just enjoy a good thing and let go, for once?

Tarn spun them around, pinning Pharma against the floor, and thrust into him. Perhaps he just needed more incentive to concentrate on more immediate matters. Things were getting rapidly heated between them as Tarn focused on driving anymore errant questions out of Pharma’s mind for the time being.

 

The answer came in form of a series of moans and amounted to an unspoken agreement. Pharma could needle Tarn about his priorities later, because time together would be all they had. For now, he wanted to be fragged out of his mind, hard and fast and good enough to make him scream. And then the neighbors could look awkwardly at him the next time he stepped out of the house.

His servos scrabbled for a hold on the smooth floor as Tarn really went to work. It was a welcome distraction for the next hours.

 

There was nothing quite like the silence after a good ‘face. Tarn lounged against the sofa with Pharma in his lap, both dazed and pleased. He petted Pharma as they lay in companionable, easy company, and wondered about what he asked.

Why was Pharma so focused on what Tarn thought of Megatron? Why did it matter to him so much? If he was fighting Megatron for Tarn’s devotion, it was a losing battle. But it could  _ work _ if Pharma simply ended up in the same side of the board as him. Then, Tarn didn’t  _ need _ to divide his attention.

From the door, a polite knock came. Tarn looked up from where he was three fingers deep in Pharma’s valve. “Visitor?” he asked, brow furrowed.

 

“I’m not expecting any,” Pharma really did not want to get up. Tarn was doing something magical to his node and he felt so pleasantly dizzy with heat and charge. But the knock persisted and Pharma groaned, aggravated.

With difficulty, he got off of Tarn, panel sliding shut with a squelch. If he ignored the door like he wanted to, rumors could spread, people could get suspicious. So Pharma kissed Tarn.

“Stay quiet.”

He walked to the door, opening it only a sliver.

“Yes?”

His tone was pointed and his face in a sneer.

 

“Hello,” Radia said, giving him a little finger wiggle in greeting. “Er, hi, I didn’t know we were neighbors. Amazing, isn’t it?”

He looked nervous, shifting from pede to pede. “I came to, uh, mention something quick…”

Tarn listened to the conversation briefly, and realized it was nothing more than neighborly concern. Therefore, no emergency. So he squeezed around the other end of the sofa, drawing up slowly towards where Pharma blocked most of the door with his frame, always keeping out sight. He could be quiet when he wanted, so it was with a soundless step that he slid up near Pharma.

“The place was built in a bit of a hurry, you see,” Radia explained, “the walls are. Um. The walls are a little thin.”

Tarn grabbed Pharma’s aft, then his servo slowly slid down to where his panel was. Tarn tugged lightly on the seams, silently urging him to open for him again.

“So, we can… hear things. Sometimes. If you’re loud.” Radia looked as if he would like to crawl into a hole and die. “As a good neighbor, I just wanted to tell you -”

A louder, deeper voice came from the door next door. “He  _ means _ we can hear your caterwauling in there, you fragging air-siren!” 

“ _ Glit _ !” Radia hissed. “I thought we agreed I would handle this!”

 

Ugh, could he never get away from this unpleasant duo? Pharma gripped the door and struggled to keep his face pleasantly neutral. He listened to the awkwardly relayed complaint and wondered just how Radia and Glit would feel knowing it was Tarn who caused Pharma to be so loud. He bet the stupid beastformer wouldn’t be so nonchalant about that.

“I didn’t realize we were allowed  _ pets _ in this building, Radia,” his venting hitched, mostly because his panel had decided that yes, it would like Tarn’s company, thank you very much.

“I’m sorry if my activities have disturbed your disappointing evening. Else you might have been too busy to notice.”

 

“ _ What _ did you call me?” Glit roared from the door. Radia groaned and put his face in his servo.

Tarn was taking his sweet time behind the door. While Pharma fended off his neighbors’ concerns and insulted them at the same time, Tarn slid two fingers in his valve and pumped in and out slowly, listening for Pharma’s tells. A hitch here, a tremble there… it made it all worth it.

“Pharma,” Radia tried, “it’s just… alarming, sometimes, to hear something so… unexpected. From someone like you.”

“What kinda of poor sap is even  _ touching _ your frigid aft?”

“ _ Glit _ ! He just means that maybe a little... self-control… might be warranted.”

 

“If you have a problem with me,  _ dog _ , then say it to my face.” Pharma snapped, feeling his charge tick up again from the tepid pool it had sunk to when the knock interrupted Tarn’s fine work.

“Self-control? It is my right to do whatever I please in my hah-habsuite, is it not?”

Pharma bit his lip, cursing himself for the stutter which was all Tarn’s fingers in his valve and none of his outrage at the neighbor’s nosiness.

 

“Of course, of course,” Radia hastened to assure him, “but in the spirit of keeping everything peaceful, it would just be nice.”

Glit stamped over from their door to Pharma’s. “First of all, you ignorant hussy,” he snapped, “I am  _ clearly _ feline. Second of all, nobody wants to listen to you screeching prayers to Unicron when they’re trying to enjoy an evening off. Lastly, really. Shut up.”

Tarn pulled after a soft huff of amusement at Pharma’s plight. A moment later, his servos were around Pharma’s hips and Tarn thrust his spike into him. He moved slowly, so Pharma wouldn’t rock too much, and enjoyed the slow drag of Pharma’s hot valve around him. Pushing Pharma in a harmless way like this was… quite fun, actually.

“Are you alright, Pharma?” Radia said, looking mildly concerned.

 

Pharma’s optics flared, but it may as well have been anger that made for the reaction, not the arousal and sensation from Tarn sliding into him. That damn mech was going to get his audial screeched off after Pharma dealt with his awful neighbors.

“Who taught your dog to speak, Radia? Really, living with a beastformer...I’ve heard of mecha that enjoy a little bestiality now and then, but to go out of your way and bother  _ me  _ is in poor ta-aste.” Pharma gripped the door harder, biting his glossa and trying his best not to openly moan in Radia’s face.

“I’m fine.”

 

“Please don’t talk about my partner in that way,” Radia said, lip wibbling. Glit was far less accommodating. He unleashed a long litany of insults that made Radia’s optics widen, and he back-pedaled from the door. “Maybe we should go -”

Glit was already stalking off, leaving Radia behind. His insults had not stopped yet.

Tarn slid home and leaned on Pharma, making him sag forward. When he drew out and thrust in again, harder, Pharma rocked enough to make the door open more than it should have.

For one brief moment, Radia and Tarn stared at each other, one with horror, one with disinterest. Pharma was between them, holding onto the door frame for dear life, fans whirring and leaving nothing to the imagination. After a split-second passed, Tarn tilted his helm.

“Good night,” he rumbled, smirking, and slammed the door in Radia’s face. Pharma was pushed up against the door immediately afterwards, with a loud enough thump to make the door rattle. On the other side, a soft, petrified, close-mouthed scream was heard.

 

Pharma had no mind for the slip-up, all he could do was resume his moaning, loud, clear, definitely audible through the thin walls of the habsuite. He didn’t even notice that Radia’s face had changed at the last moment before the door was shut, and he only half remembered Tarn speaking.

A litany of praising curses followed, though Pharma never mentioned Tarn’s name. Apparently, there was no end to how much his frame had missed Tarn after all.

 

If Pharma had been displeased by his decision to disrupt his talk with the neighbors, he certainly wasn’t protesting now. Helpless to do anything else but hold himself up, it left his valve wide open for Tarn to ream until he couldn’t stand anymore.

His aim was to make Pharma a mess everywhere in the hab, and so far, it was working. Fluid from their earlier ‘face puddled on the floor and Tarn thrust a servo between Pharma’s legs to ruthlessly torment his anterior node once more. The door rattled as Pharma was pushed into it with every thrust, and he was cursing and screaming up loud enough to be heard two floors up.

When Tarn overloaded in him, he did so with a smug, pleased chuckle into Pharma’s audial. His valve must be a right mess now, which only pleased Tarn more. He held Pharma’s middle, where he felt the warp in his plating. Tarn pressed against it and chuckled again, even more smug.

 

“You fiend,” Pharma purred, frame shuddering, legs unsteady as he relied on Tarn to keep him upright. He could feel Tarn’s pressure, inside of his frame, outside of it, and he was oddly comforted like this. As if he’d...no, enough thinking, his mind was clear now.

“Let’s continue in the fresher.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Psychological assessment. What a farce.

Pharma had been waiting for weeks without any notice, just to receive the ridiculous message from command that he wouldn’t be put back to work before completing it. Pharma had ranted, bitched at Tarn about how stupid and unnecessary it was and ultimately, accepted his fate and made an appointment. After Tarn had fragged the stress out of him, of course.

“I’m here for the twelve o’clock.” he greeted the broad receptionist icily.

North blinked at him owlishly, then jutted his chin at the group of chairs.

“Name?”

“Pharma.”

“Take a seat.”

 

Pharma was waved in after another mech - short, black, and sour-faced - stormed out. The interior of the therapy room was actually quite nice - open-windowed and light, it was decorated with thin glass ornaments and delicate crystal lattices. Amid all this delicate finery, Cadence stood out as the most beautiful. He looked up when he saw Pharma, and a smile graced his aristocratic face. “Welcome,” he said, inclining his helm a fraction. “Please - sit.”

Heeled pedes crossed one another as Cadence clicked his datapad online. “I am your doctor, Cadence. I remember hearing you might come in.”

 

Pharma was flush with jealousy the instant he stepped into the office. Everything was rich with the kind of luxuries he’d remembered from the Golden Age, untouched by the war and beautiful in every aspect. From the ornaments to the lattices, it was the kind of style that seemed ethereal and eternal, delicate and yet untouchable. It was lavish and decadent and he wanted to take it all and fill the entire Peaceful Tyranny with it. 

And his supposed doctor...

Forged, definitely. Those delicate frame parts didn’t look like they could do anything but academic research or high-end pleasure business. Pharma’s hackles rose, but he just barely kept his voice from becoming acidic. He did, after all, have to convince this mech that he was a good little Autobot.

“Have you? It seems many mecha have heard of me, and I not of them. Shall I take a seat?”

 

“Please do,” Cadence said. He watched Pharma expectantly, smiling welcomingly the entire time. “Prowl told me that you knew why you were here - I have not been made aware, unfortunately. But first, introductions. You must be medical, aren’t you?”

He spoke with the accent of a noble, all soft and lyrical. Setting his datapad down, Cadence adjusted the cascade of his gold drape, and then folded his servos on his lap. “I was also told to expect a write-up from you,” he continued. “Regarding your… past.”

 

He was so beautiful, it was hideous. Pharma had to give himself the urgent reminder that he was here for a reason besides hating his assessment therapist so he extracted a datapad from his subspace and slid onto the table. He hoped it would leave scratches on the finely carved metal.

“The answer is yes to both of your questions. I am medical, with specialisations in high-risk invasive surgery, transplantation and disease control. Of course, my doctorates are a little dated now, but I would add to them if given the opportunity. Here is my report on everything that transpired on Messatine between myself and the former Decepticon Justice Division commander. I...would ask that it only be shared in the strictest confidentiality. It is not a document to be read lightly.”

 

“Of course,” Cadence said, nodding deeply. “I will treat it with all the respect and care you deserve.”

He set it aside, however, and looked at Pharma evenly. “However, let’s meet first. Just… a small talk, so you don’t feel too overwhelmed. How are you settling in? Has everyone been welcoming?

 

“It’s...different than the Cybertron I remember.” Pharma figured a mix of of vulnerability and selected personal mistakes ought to be enough to convince anyone of his honesty. If not, he had a plethora of terrible stories about pain and abuse and pressure on his shoulders that could make anyone feel for him.

“All the procedures...I wanted to come home and get my helm down into work, but there’s been many bumps in the road. I waited a long time to feel safe and at home again.”

 

“It’s part of the process,” Cadence said, nodding sympathetically. “There have been others who report feeling isolated, alone… perhaps something could be done about that? We can help you meet with others in your same situation, so you don’t feel so alone.”

Cadence tapped something out on his datapad. “And you have me to talk with as well.”

He peered at Pharma for a moment. “Is there anything here that makes you feel… worried, maybe? Unsafe?”

 

“Yes.”

Pharma would absolutely hate to meet other mecha in his situation. They could stay as far from him as possible, please and thank you. He’d rather purge his tanks than share his story with strangers.

“There’s a lot of scrutiny from...certain sources in command. I’ve been interrogated about what happened to me and the DJD, and I...I feel wrongly accused. I’ve never done anything to break laws, and yet, I am being treated as a suspect, and I don’t know what for. I’m afraid...every knock at the door could be something else, something new, someone coming to take me away.”

 

Pharma’s performance was masterful. With a few sobs, some little wobbling, and a more tantalizingly dangled pieces of information, he had his story crafted up. Cadence didn’t attack his story with the ruthless efficiency of Prowl, and so allowed the details to come in piece by piece. He listened, rapt, and offered his sympathetic ear for Pharma.

Recommendations were given. Group talks were assigned. Pharma, it seemed, gained a listening, compassionate audial who hung on his every word. Until, Cadence finally made his move.

It wasn’t the aggressive attack of Prowl’s. Cadence would never be like that. He just… prodded. He pushed. He tried, until he found the right path.

Beautiful face drowning in compassion, Cadence said, “Pharma… I have noticed something as we’ve talked. When you speak of Tarn… you tend to talk about your relationship as well. And forgive me if I am wrong… but it does not feel as if you are wholly negative about it.”

 

Talking felt good. Even if the stories were carefully constructed to attract sympathy, Pharma was happy to just talk to someone who was completely unaware of the realities of his situation. He spoke of his early years, the work on Messatine and the isolation since his return. Of course, Tarn’s name cropped up here and there. Maybe a little more often than he wanted to admit, but the mech had made a large impact on his life. And besides, Cadence would read far spicier details in that report.

And yet it still caught him off-guard that Cadence pointed out his stance on the relationship.

He decided that flat out denial would be tedious to upkeep.

“...It wasn’t all bad. I know that sounds terrible, given as to who he was and what he did...but I was so alone. I...I was afraid of saying anything positive to...Prowl. He’d treat me like a traitor for it, but the truth of the matter is that Tarn was an attentive companion. He gave me gifts. Thoughtful ones, too.”

 

Cadence nodded slowly. “So he wasn’t always… abusive, you mean to say?” he affirmed. “It was mixed in with some good spots. And this… possibly contributed to something of an attachment to him. It’s not so strange, Pharma. This can happen more often than you’d think.”

More of the story unfolded. Pharma and Tarn’s relationship was a twilight landscape of abuse, romance, and one-sided terror. Pharma seemed to have a dozen similar stories lined up, so Cadence continued to probe the less-explored options.

“I apologize if this is too invasive,” he said, “but tell me about what it was like. The good times, I mean. What was Tarn like, when he was not hurting you?”

 

“Charming.” Pharma didn’t even consider not telling Cadence. It might put his position into question, a little, but it could also work out. If he painted himself a victim emotionally as well, he might even find some support.

“He complimented me, a lot, kept me as a companion, not shareware as I anticipated. He was...smart, for a Decepticon, even if he wasn’t educated in any respectable manner. And he had good taste in expensive drink. It was easy to forget he was a murderer, on those good days. I...I daresay I looked forward to them. The clinic, Delphi, was hard work. Without supply ships, we were always running low. On heating, in particular, but fuel as well. I was able to forfeit a lot of my shares by fueling with Tarn...not that it was intentional on his side, but he allowed me indulgences I never dreamed possible on that outpost.”

He rubbed his face, ignoring the potent ache in his spark to return to his habsuite.

“I was never tempted to become a Decepticon, but I was tempted to stay at his side, if things had been different. Of course, I killed him not long after those thoughts circled my mind. I knew I was being pulled in too deep. When he died, though...I felt even emptier. Like I killed myself too.”

 

“If you could change things, back then… would you?” Cadence sensed that Pharma was no longer focusing on him. He seemed withdrawn, actually, thinking more about what happened back then rather than what Cadence was doing. All his questions were… were guides. Guides for his thoughts, to lead him down a path of thought and understanding.

Pharma’s almost wistful tone was noted down. So he had enjoyed some of his relationship with Tarn - mainly the material aspects, along with the comfort and security of knowing he was, on some part, protected. If Pharma was to be believed, Tarn was a mercurial lover, swinging from generosity and gentility to violence and abuse. He could see why one’s helm would be confused by the constant changes.

 

“...Maybe. I...some part of me was very happy to kill him. It was revenge, and the right thing to do. He was a dangerous madmech, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same if he’d known what I was planning. But...another part of me wishes I’d just...disappeared. With him. I know that’s not very model Autobot behavior, but towards the...end...Tarn was good to me. He liked me, for who I was. And I know you can’t know this, but that is very rare. I’ve never kept many friends, and I’ve never held down a lover. I would get tired of people, and they would say I was unbearable. Tarn didn’t once...not once, say anything like it. I wish...maybe I could have brought him in alive. I know he’d be as good as dead here, now, if he was alive, but I don’t feel good, knowing I took his life. I took away any chances we...had.”

 

“Pharma,” Cadence said. “Pharma, come back to me. Tarn is dead now. Those feelings you have - they come from a long campaign of abuse that wore you down. Right now, all I can say is…”

The datapad went down. “Loving him would not have changed him. He would still have hurt you and he would still hurt other people. What you did, however painful, was ultimately the right thing.”

Perhaps, had this been a different Decepticon, the story would be different. For Tarn, however… it was only bound to end one way. He was a fanatic of the lowest degree. “So, is that why you asked for his body? Closure?”

 

_ Loving _ . Was that what Pharma had meant? Was that why he was so fond of the memories of a pleasant Tarn who treated him well?

He searched for words, trying to focus on Cadence and what he’d said. He had to cover his feelings, he had to cover what had happened since then. So he nodded, keeping coolant pooling in his optics.

“I think so. I know...he didn’t deserve how I feel...how I felt. And yet, I would rather smelt him myself, and end this chapter of my life. At least then, he could still be mine in a way.”

He leaned back, cycling air out of his vents.

“I never realized that it had gone so far. At the time, I didn’t reflect on things. I just moved forward, I had too much to deal with.”

But he’d been and still was, in love with Tarn. Suddenly, Pharma wanted to go home. 

 

“Well, this session has been deeply enlightening, Pharma, for us both. I think you have much to think about, and so do I. You should know - you are free to leave, whenever you feel it is necessary. I won’t force you to stay any longer than you feel is needed.”

And Pharma, antsy and unfocused, looked like he wanted to leave. Cadence patted the write-up next to him. “I won’t keep you, Pharma.”

 

“Right. Thank you, doctor.” Pharma stood, suddenly full of impatience and regret. He could think about how Cadence didn’t have to do much to get a staunch amount of detail out of him, but his mind was clouded with memories of Tarn and the overwhelming urge to see him, alive and well.

He didn’t even stop at the reception for another appointment (not that he wanted one), he just marched straight outside and took off in altmode.

He was in love with Tarn. How could he not have seen it? All this time spent agonizing over how to keep power over Tarn, to keep him close, to claim him as his own. He was in love, with the most difficult target for his affections. He was in love and he didn’t know how to make Tarn love him, which was why he’d been so pliant to the notion of granting him freedom in exchange for genuine affection. He was in love, and that’s why Tarn’s proposal had given him pause for thought. 

Arriving at his hab in record time, Pharma barrelled into his living space, tiny as it was, door barely slammed behind him.

“Tarn!”

 

“Has something happened?” he asked, currently parked in front of the sofa with a truly prodigious number of datapads around him. A small stack of empty cubes was on the table. Tarn spent most of his time reading, catching up to the news. A lot had gone down since he last checked in, much of it important.

Tarn looked unexpectedly mundane like this, as if he wasn't one of the more feared mech in this war of theirs. His face was still bare - unfortunately - and he looked younger for it. Hunched in the too-small space between the sofa and the table, surrounded by pads, with empty fuel cubes beside him, Tarn wasn't quite the terrifying figure of fanaticism and mass murder as he usually was.

Pharma’s distressed tone made him frown. It aged him, but only just. 

“Tell me,” Tarn urged, rising. A stack of pads toppled over as his knee brushed into them. He navigated the small space slowly, approaching Pharma’s harried figure, who looked as if he’d flown all the way here.

 

"Yes. No." Pharma allowed himself just a moment to calm down and take in the soothing sight of a mech he had reanimated twice, alive and well and perfectly kept for him. Tarn was no longer just a monstrous shadow in his nightmares and memories. He was a fully fledged person, with plenty of flaws and qualities. He wasn't a Decepticon, to Pharma, he was just the mech he loved. A cruel bastard when he wanted to be, a gentle lover when he chose to be. And a mech who could, potentially, feel for Pharma the way Pharma felt for him.

It only took seconds for him to cross the distance between them, so he could wrap his arms around most of Tarn's torso and just rest his helm against his chestplate.

"I...I was wrong. To code you. To kill you. I never...I never thought about it. I never thought it could be another way."

But it could, and it might have happened earlier if he hadn't given into his wild urges of power fantasies.

"I'm going to...free you. I want you by my side. Not a slave. I want you."

 

“... did something happen?” he asked cautiously. Tarn relished the opportunity to be free, certainly, but he was also wary of Pharma’s sudden change in attitude. Tarn had spent  _ months _ trying to get him to see reason, so what changed now?

His arms, raised from Pharma’s sudden embrace, slowly lowered and patted the mech clutching him.

“I suppose you came to a realization?” Pharma had only been gone for a few hours. How did someone utterly change their stance on something in an instant like that?

 

“I did. It was a very revealing session.” Pharma wasn’t going to choke out those words buzzing around his helm any time soon. Tarn may be the recipient of his love, but he would and could still change once he was actually released. It was the only way forward for Pharma, or else he’d be dragging a dead weight into a lonely future. Holding power wasn’t good for anything if it didn’t come with reward and indulgence, and Tarn had proven he could be so much more if he was just given a choice.

Pharma would be afraid of the other choice, but he couldn’t risk not seeing what Tarn chose to do.

“You should be rejoicing. I have decided that you may have raised a valid point about why I kept you in the first place. My attachment to you. My desire to feel appreciated. I’ve indulged in it for too long in too static a manner. I’ll clear the coding from you, may the chips fall where they will.”

 

“You will?” Tarn didn't believe what he was hearing. Just like that, he was free? He could finally have the freedom he longed for so strongly, without anything extra?

It was too good to be true. “And there is nothing else expected? Are you going to install something else instead?”

A small part of him twinged at the last bit. Was Pharma… tired of his affection? Had he decided he had enough? That would be so abrupt and Tarn would…

He shook himself. No. His freedom was too close to overthink it. He wanted to be free, yes.

 

Pharma shook his helm against Tarn’s chestplate. 

“No. I’m...consider it my revision of what we’ve discussed so many times. I do want to know if your affection for me is genuine. You can’t...you can’t love me unless you’re free. So I’m setting you free. There is no power to gain here on Cybertron that I need to enslave you for. There’s no up for me to reach toward. This planet is a mess. This society is run by messes. I want what happiness I can take, and I only have you. So I want to have the real you.”

And not the puppet on partial strings, no matter how convenient it was.

 

“I… accept,” Tarn said, tasting freedom on the tip of his glossa. He could leave if he wanted, and Pharma would not be able to stop him. He could save his lord, he could get his ship back, he could burn this city into slag…

… he could  _ kill _ Pharma.

Tarn stilled. He could have revenge for the months of humiliation. He could torture him,  _ hurt _ him, make him pay for everything he forced Tarn into - for the pain of his first death, for the enslavement, for making him kill his own unit - it was  _ all _ possible. Didn’t Pharma  _ realize _ this? Didn’t he understand that Tarn was dangerous, regardless of everything they did together, and that he was not some  _ pet _ that could be set off his leash on a whim?

Was Pharma foolish enough to  _ trust _ Tarn?

“Free me,” he said hoarsely. He ran his servos over the mech holding him, imagining him hurt, screaming, crying.  _ Dead _ .

 

It was unwise. Of course his actions invited retaliation, and Tarn had never seemed the forgiving type. And yet, Pharma wouldn't hesitate. He was going to trust Tarn. If it spelled his death, at least he wouldn't have to deal with his feelings anymore.

“We'll see what happens,” he muttered to himself, ignoring his feeling of dread as he plugged in a cable and wiped the compulsive coding. He didn't stop to see sense in his reckless change of mind.

 

The change wasn’t something he could feel. When Pharma said it was done, Tarn didn’t feel any different. All he knew was that it was gone and done, according to Pharma.

His clenched and released his fists, looking down at his servos. Then, he looked at Pharma. His optics narrowed.

Tarn grabbed him by the neck and dragged him backwards until Pharma was pinned against a wall, pedes dangling off the ground. Tarn waited to feel if the compulsive need to  _ not _ hurt Pharma came to him.

It did not. Tarn smiled slowly and leaned in close. “Give me an order,” he demanded.

 

It was terribly familiar. Pharma wondered if he'd die within the next few minutes, and never live to see Tarn's rampage across Cybertron. His spark ached as he understood that all affection for him had been a well played act on Tarn's side. 

“Put me down. Kneel to me.”

Even as he gave the order, Pharma realized that servitude was never all that satisfying to command. He stared into Tarn's burning optics and saw his own demise. It would come. Soon.

 

Nothing. He felt nothing. Pharma’s words meant less than air and water to him. Tarn could kill him, right here and now, if he wanted.

He kissed him. Tarn’s servo released his neck and he supported him with an arm under his thighs instead. The momentary look of hopelessness on Pharma’s face had been price enough - Tarn was too far gone to kill him now. After everything that happened… it wasn’t the right ending. It couldn’t be.

 

It was desperately returned, with Pharma clinging to what he could of Tarn. He'd expected death and pain, but received kissing instead. Was it enough of a sign? Was Tarn relishing the moment or simply stalling out the painful part? He was a sadist, after all. He might just be waiting for exactly the right setting and mood to slowly hurt and punish Pharma.

That didn't stop the medic from kissing back desperately, legs and arms finding space to fit around or against Tarn.

 

The tension thickened as the outcome they both half-expected continued to not come. Pharma could do little to fight back and if Tarn wanted, all he had to do was squeeze a  _ little  _ too hard to make him hurt. Given how much time Pharma spent screaming in here, no one would even bother checking.

And yet, all Tarn did was kiss him until they were breathless and pin him against the wall with his own bulk. Pharma never received anything more than vaguely sore neck cables and few love bites. When Tarn withdrew, he rested his forehead against Pharma’s.

“I won’t kill you,” he said lowly, “or hurt you or leave. I love you.”

It was a twisted one, certainly, but they were not good or kind people. This was the closest they would ever get.

 

Coolant came to Pharma's optics for a second, and maybe it spilled down his face and smeared over Tarn's plating, but the happy smile on his face rejected any notion of disappointment. Far, far from it.

“That's the same conclusion I came to, Tarn. I love you. Stay with me.”

Pharma wrapped his arms around the tankformer’s neck. How could he have been so ignorant for so long? His obsession with Tarn wasn't steeped in disgust or hatred. It was love, maddening love, that brought Tarn back from the dead. Twice. That's how the variable had been adjusted. Pharma didn't cry, he laughed, gently for his standards.

 

What followed was a whirlwind that they both weren’t quite sure of. Somewhere amid the broken furniture, more confessions might have slipped out. Tarn and Pharma celebrated this in the same way they celebrated everything else - with a congratulatory frag that became entirely too self-indulgent.

Twice again did Tarn demand Pharma give him an order. Neither times worked, and each time Tarn fragged Pharma until he was shrieking.

It was a victory on both sides. Pharma had the companionship that he had spent his entire life craving. Tarn had his freedom and someone to support him on a planet where he was thought dead.

They lay on the floor, because Tarn had broken the sofa three hours earlier. The berth was too small for Tarn to even contemplate laying on, so he made do. Pharma lay on him, so he could hardly complain about the floor being cold.

 

All manner of cohesive thought had escaped Pharma through his valve. He and Tarn had just affirmed their commitment to each other, and that probably meant a lot of things, but right now, all he could and would do was listen to Tarn's engine purr.

And maybe stroke over his chestplate as he lay splayed on him.

“You're the only one to stay. That's tragic.”

 

“I’ll kill anyone else who tries,” Tarn murmured. He had one of Pharma’s wing-hooks in his servo and thumbed the sharp tip in tune to the periodic purr of his engine. Tarn was in a good mood now - better than good, actually.

“You’re stuck with me. Get used to it.” He was silent for a moment. “And it is  _ my _ berth now.”

 

“Technically, it’s my floor.” Pharma pointed out, but he had few compunctions about allowing Tarn his usual role of dominance back. Apparently, the mech needed it in order to process what the two of them now were. Real lovers. How novel. Pharma let it run through his mind several times and found it utterly to his liking.

“We need to get your berth back...the ship. And I...don't know how long we have before someone sees that your corpse is missing.”

 

“No, the ship can wait,” Tarn said. “Lord Megatron must be saved. If he is out then all else falls into place. That is what I must do.”

And Pharma could not order him to stop. That was what mattered. Pharma could be taken along and be shown the glory of the Cause in due time. Lord Megatron would certainly see the use in someone like him and welcome him into the faction… Tarn was momentarily adrift with daydreams of Pharma at his side, beautiful and badged, eagerly awaiting the final triumph of the Decepticons.

It was a good image. Certainly good enough to make him stir.

Tarn slid a servo back down to Pharma’s valve. “The other Decepticons will surely be planning this. Correspondence must take place. I need your help in this.”

 

“I don't have any Decepticon contacts.” Pharma reprimanded lazily as his valve perked up, very interested in that claw coming to visit once more. Apparently, his recovery rate for charge was astronomically low, now that he'd accepted it was love that plagued and propelled him into Tarn's arms.

“You still don't believe in his surrender?”

 

“No. I know him better than you do. Whatever this is meant to be, it is no genuine surrender.” Tarn toyed with his node, taking his time as he laid out his thoughts. “You need no Decepticons contacts - I have plenty. I know who is most likely to take up arms and who you must speak to. If you carry my personal signal code, they will know you speak in my name.”

Never mind his death. One show of his power, and they would all fall in line.

One finger dipped into Pharma’s valve.  “Do you agree to this?”

 

“Hmmm.” Pharma nodded along, pliant as his valve accepted Tarn, greeted him like a dear guest. Whatever Tarn wanted to do for his stupid cause, Pharma could probably agree with, as long as he was at the mech’s side. He'd certainly be the most beautiful Decepticon agent Cybertron had ever known and the shock and betrayal on the few familiar faces he knew would be a balm on his spark.

“I'll do what you need me to do. Consider it a present of good faith,  _ love. _ ”

The fact that it was now a confirmed truth pleased Pharma almost as much as the claws in his valve.

 

“I’ll tell you more later,” Tarn said, rolling on top of Pharma again. “For now, however, I have something better in mind.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Tarn was still not capable of being seen in public - certainly not with the way things were now. He couldn’t exactly go out with the perception disruptor either. The first time had been risk enough; doing it twice was asking for trouble. So Pharma, armed with his codes and his comm, was sent out instead.

He would be seeking out Onslaught, who Tarn promised would be loyal (or else was the usual attached but unsaid second half of his sentence). He needed to flash the codes and speak, or get Tarn on comm if they didn’t believe him. Tarn who, after his second revival, had his power back under his control again. Tarn, who was  _ still _ very menacing, news of death or not.

 

It was one thing to nod and tell Tarn he'd do whatever he wanted as the mech lavished his valve with his glossa. It was another to actually be seeking out out Deceptions that lived in poorish neighborhoods with paint peeling off of the hastily assembled buildings.

Onslaught. What an unpleasant name. Pharma found a somewhat less threatening looking ‘con in the street and tapped him on the arm.

“You know where someone named Onslaught lives?”

 

Payout twitched automatically away from the servo that touched him, and then turned with his most sour face on. “The frag?” he spat. Who went up to people and just  _ touched _ them? Who did this fragger think he was -

Payout took in the sight. Oh, it was some  _ slag _ . That badge was fresher than his morning ‘fresher walk-in and ‘sides - no ‘con had paint  _ that _ shiny. This was either some late join-up or even worse - a NAIL who thought he had ball bearings.

“What’s it to you?” he demanded, sneering. “You ain’t no ‘con I’ve seen ‘round.”

 

“No, I don't imagine you have.” Pharma wiped his hand after giving it a small spray. Never knew with these thuggish cons that hung around the streets. They could be full of rust or other terminal afflictions and not even know it.

“I have a very specific message for him that only concerns Decepticons of influence.”

 

“How ‘bout you frag off back to what hole you came out of?” Payout’s full attention turned on Pharma. “You tryna pass a message off from Starscream? Prowl? Tell ‘em we want none of their fraggin’ deals. Now scram before someone peels your platin’ off for a quick ‘nix.”

 

Pharma raised a brow. How stubborn and unhelpful a mech could be! And here was Tarn, relying on simpletons like them to lead his cause to victory.

But Pharma was now a Decepticon for love, and not so easily shaken. He mustered the size of the mech as he let his arm transform. Surgical saws were supposed to be smaller, more precise, but Pharma had adjusted to big frames in more than one way. He was on the mouthy mech in an instant, saw revving at Payout’s neckcables. The noise of it covered Pharma's words, leaving them only for Payout to hear.

“Tarn lives. And unless you want him to visit you in the hospital, tell me where Onslaught is.”

 

The saw on his neck made Payout draw his gun. Suddenly, they were attracting more attention than two arguing mecha here usually did. There wasn’t anyone to stop them… yet.

“Tarn?” Payout asked, brows furrowing. “Tarn is dead. ‘Less you’ve got proof that says otherwise…”

His gun clicked softly between them. “We’ll see if my gun or your saw is faster.”

 

“You’d regret it sooner than I,” Pharma grinned. A gun would only kill him if it hit his sparkchamber and helm. Anything else, he’d made records on how to repair. His revolutionary research concerning reanimation was the first thing he sent to Tarn, post-release. Not that the mech was capable of performing such acts himself, but he could find another medic to force into reviving Pharma should he accidentally be harmed.

But he had no intention of making that a reality just yet. Instead, he gleaned the mech’s name from one of Tarn’s lists.

“Payout, is it? Call for you. Answer your comms.”

He sent a ping to Tarn with the designation, assuming Tarn would have that comm.

 

“Who the -”

_ ::Designation Payout, rank, captain. You know who I am.:: _

He shut up immediately. His gun sagged. Payout’s optics widened. “You’re s’posed to be dead,” he said, disbelieving.

_ ::It was cancelled. Now, captain, listen to the good doctor and take him to Onslaught.  _ **_Quickly_ ** _.:: _

He recoiled from the pain, servo flying to his chest. Oh, damn, yeah. He knew that power alright. There was no fragger out there in the big wide universe who could squeeze that much pain into one word and not even touch you while doing it. “Alright. Got it,” he grunted, returning his gun to his holster. “Right, then. Come on, follow me.”

Payout paused for a half-second. “An’ get your saw back where it’s s’posed to be.”

 

Pharma smiled as he transformed his hand back, holding them up as if he was surrendering as he stepped away from Payout. Tarn’s power over Decepticons was lovely to witness and it made Pharma run hot. He knew what he’d be doing once he returned to his hab, which was where the terrifying nightmare of the Decepticons was currently sitting or standing, with his cube half-full and the holo-screen on.

“Thank you for your cooperation. It’s nice to see such a good change of spark.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Payout said distractedly, frantically messaging every top ‘con in on the latest jig.

_ ::Tarn ain’t fragging dead.:: _

Replies were varying. Some were tentatively thoughtful. Most were angry curses because nobody but Megatron wanted Tarn around. He was hard to work with, he was even harder to reason with, and he was a right damn  _ bastard  _ when he wanted to be. Oh, sure, he was going to be useful during the assault - frag yes he was - but after? They were all going back to looking over their shoulders.

At least Starscream would be wetting his gears soon. That was the single, sole silver lining in this grease-slag cloud.

“Who’re you?” he asked as they walked. “Would know if you were a new member of the JD. Some… new recruit?” Why  _ Tarn _ of all people would have a new recruit was beyond him. Mech didn’t recruit people, he ate their fragging sparks for lunch!

 

“My designation is Pharma.” the medic answered, fully indulging in the respect his lover enjoyed from the Decepticons. By extension, it would make him feel the safest anyone ever could, walking through a hostile ghetto and being as delicate and shiny as he was.

“Tarn is my lover. I’m merely helping out with this little venture.”

 

Payout might have tripped over the curb. It could have been air, it didn’t really matter. What he fragging tripped over was his damn  _ words _ .

“You slaggin’ me?” he said, turning around again. “No, no fraggin’ way, you can’t…”

Well, Pharma wasn’t ugly, he’d give him that. He had the nerve to walk in here with that stupid-aft smirk, certainly. Judging by that saw and the symbols on those wings, he was a medic too. But everything else? That was the farthest thing from a Decepticon you could be, short of wearing the red badge and talking about peace.

“...fine. Whatever, fine.” He wanted to scrub those images out of his helm. Tarn, with anyone?  _ Nasty _ . Maybe they took turns polishing Megatron’s cannon with their mouths.

...he managed to disgust himself with that.

They walked through the ghetto, which was practically choking with Decepticons of every size, shape, and color. They all wore their badges proudly and eyed Pharma predatorily, as if wondering when they could jump him. Only Payout’s presence - and the hefty glare he leveled on everyone near - kept them at bay. None of them knew who was backing Pharma up. Not yet, at least.

“Onslaught? Yeah, ‘s me. Frag you mean you ain’t -? No, frag you,  _ I heard him _ \- oh, fine. You wanna see?” Payout glanced at Pharma. “Tell Tarn to give Onslaught a lil call.”

 

Pharma had been through worse than strutting along a street full of mecha ready to kill him. After what he’d experienced, it would be tough to show fear in any appropriate proportion in any situation, so it was a good thing that he’d spread the word of Tarn’s return here first.

_ ::Love, Onslaught needs a little proof from you.:: _

Whoever this Onslaught was, he lived in a fairly large clump of a house and a lot of Decepticons lingered around the outside of it.

A blistering patch of bright blue and silver pushed his way through the gathering crowd.

“The frag you doin’ Payout? Givin’ sightseein’ tours?”

 

“I decided to pick up a new hobby,” Payout snapped. “Now, shut up an’ get your -”

He froze as a wider connection opened through his comms. It was a group-call. Priority; declining this was gonna get you  _ questioned _ . He cut himself off to answer it. The voice he dreaded came through.

_ ::Hello, Decepticons. Onslaught, thank you for patching me in through your comms. For those of you listening, the news of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.:: _ Tarn’s smooth, commanding voice slid through everyone’s comms like hot oil. Even Pharma was party to it, through their private connection.  _ ::However, the state of matters here are greatly concerning to me. Lord Megatron is imprisoned, by the Autobots - a state that cannot go on any longer. _ **_I hope that something is being done about this_ ** _.:: _

Payout cringed as his spark fluttered painfully. Some Decepticons looked merely confused, but the vast majority were bent double, holding onto their chests while cursing or venting rapidly. Tarn wasn’t here physically, but he was still flexing his power over them,  _ reminding _ them who he was, what he could do, and what he  _ would _ do.

 

Pharma watched it with a sated smirk dancing over his face. He liked this reminder about Tarn’s power, he liked seeing how the mech he had conquered and then fallen in love with could dominate others without ever being there. It was a beautiful reminder that his lover was strong, powerful, a force in the universe to be afraid of. And Pharma vividly recalled his sweet confession.

Hail wheezed and spat out some purged fuel. He hadn’t felt that voice in years and personally, had thrown somewhat of a party when Tarn’s death had been confirmed. Now, the fragger was back. Somehow. 

“Slaggin’ son of a glitch,” he snarled, staying close to Payout, “we were already doin’ somethin’ about it, you don’t gotta use that fraggin’ voice.”

 

“Shut it, you  _ glitch _ -” Payout snapped, jabbing an elbow into Hail’s side. It was too late for that, however,

_ ::Thank you for your enlightening addition to the conversation, lieutenant.  _ **_Now shut up_ ** _.:: _

Payout sagged as his spark was assaulted. Pharma - fragging Pharma - looked like someone was sucking his spike into the next century.  _ Fragger _ .

Tarn continued to speak, but at least the power showed no more of itself. It was enough for everyone here to know - Tarn was  _ back _ and he expected  _ in _ . Onslaught, the poor slag, was going to be negotiating with him for  _ hours _ now. At least the group-call ended, letting the brief torture session cease.

“Needed to… needed to open your mouth, did you?” Payout glared at Hail, holding his chest. “An’ for your knowledge, ‘pparently that smug slag behind me is Tarn’s squeeze!”

 

“What?! What the slag?” Hail wasn’t going to apologize for speaking up. He’d spent too many years bowing at the merest mention of the DJD. It had felt good, for one second, to let Tarn know what he thought of him. And then his chest had ached as if his spark was slicing its way out of the chamber and Hail no longer felt good. With his servo on Payout, subtly, he looked behind him at the shiny flier. Ugh. One of those really pretty ones too, with the tiny wingtips on his arms and big, sprawling medical crosses on them. A flying doctor and Tarn’s bulk didn’t really go together in his mind. This medic probably broke in half if Tarn touched him wrong. Not that Hail wanted to picture it, but he was definitely trying to fit them together.

“How does he even take his spike?”

“I can hear you.”

Hail coughed to clear his throat but Pharma didn’t seem disturbed by the question at all, instead smiling vaguely.

“With practice, by the way.”

“I wasn’ even askin’. He got a thick-”

 

Payout sucker-punched Hail before he could go on any longer. The satisfaction was two-fold - hitting Hail was always good and shutting him up before he said something dumb was even  _ better _ . “What he means  is,” he amended, “is that we don’t wanna know anythin’ ‘bout what you do or how you do it. Now, you can either go in and bother Onslaught ‘stead of us, or… do whatever else you’re here to do.”

_ Just leave us the frag alone _ , he wanted to add. He shot a glare at Hail in the meantime, because what  _ idiot _ asks that?

Over comms, Tarn was busily negotiating with Onslaught. The flexing was done for now - it was business time. He still managed to sound unimpressed doing it.

 

Hail held his face, alternating between glaring at Pharma and confused stares at Payout. It wasn’t that bad a question, he’d ask any of his buddies that at any time of day. Sure, they might get their plating in a twist about it and brawl him for it, but all in all, it was reasonable to ask how a big mech fragged a small mech.

Pharma turned away, dismissing the mecha without another word as he stalked across the street. He didn’t need to be seen in the midst of a Decepticon crowd, and Tarn had handled his end of the business. He pulled off the adhesive badge, subspacing it again before he transformed. There was no need to cling to allegiances when he was safer without them. He set course for Iacon, pinging Tarn idly.

_ ::I’ll see if I can find something decent to celebrate with.:: _

 

Pharma wandered through the few small stores that had cropped up in New Iacon since the first refugees came in. These were near exclusively run by NAILs because of their neutrality in the combat and their ability to remain a third party when it came to charging Autobots or Decepticons. He was not alone, however. With him, someone else followed.

Arcee was good at being unseen. A talent, one could say. Oh, she could be loud when she wanted, but this small mission, as it was, was one that called for a measure of subtlety. Scared birds flew away quickly, and all that.

Personally, she thought Prowl was being paranoid. He was one disgruntled medic - Primus knew they had plenty of  _ those _ running around. Him running around the Decepticons was probably yet another symptom of Autobots forced in proximity to their enemies - they got curious, they got interested, and they did little tours of the place. Given Prowl’s suspicions, she wouldn’t be too surprised if he’d fallen into one or two ‘con berths in the process as well.

Still, it was something to do that wasn’t grappling with Prowl’s difficult attitude. Besides, Pharma was kind of entertaining in that watch-and-don’t-interact sort of way, similar to Prowl; fun to watch, hell to deal with.

 

Pharma had no idea that he was being tailed. He’d never been any kind of combatant, and although paranoia often dictated his actions, he still wasn’t very good at actually taking notice of his surroundings at all times. 

Besides, even if he was aware, he would have continued with his pursuit of preparations for a lengthy, enjoyable evening. He managed to find some double-filtered engex, some treats, some bits and pieces that could become interesting if applied just right.

He also bought raw metal and paint for a very special gift he intended to make for Tarn. It wasn’t difficult to find Decepticon-purple, and he didn’t ask how it had been made; people sold their badges for pennies if they had to.

 

Pharma’s shopping trip was pretty boring. Aside from his hilarious snaps at the various people he bumped into, he was a relatively normal guy. Maybe a little unhinged, but who wasn’t? Arcee followed him in hopes of seeing something interesting, but rapidly lost hope.

So after he was done and was heading home from his little trip, Arcee confronted him. Nowhere suspicious - no, she could maintain some small measure of self-control despite self-confessed violent tendencies and rampant guilt. It was just the archway of the building block he lived in - nothing off.

Her sword was even sheathed, that’s how nice she was being.

“Hey there,” she said, raising a servo in a wave, “nice to see you around, doc. Prowl’s been getting antsy.”

 

Pharma froze like a deer in headlights. He tried to place the voice and frame, but came up short of a name. He’d seen her before, maybe, somewhere? It was a blurry memory at best. He gripped the bag a little harder than necessary and quelled his need to avoid a social situation. He was a mannered mech, was he not?

“Prowl has a lot to worry about. He should see a doctor some time.” 

His voice was still clipped with acid, and the subject didn’t incline him to speak kindly.

 

“Good thing you’re one, right?” Arcee tried putting on a welcoming smile - it was actually a bloodthirsty grimace, but hey,  _ she was trying _ . “You’re looking a bit stiff. Try and relax - I wasn’t sent here to kill you. You wouldn’t see me if I was.”

She flicked some imaginary dirt off her shoulder. “It’s just, he gets  _ worried _ sometimes. Trust me - you don’t want Prowl getting worried. That’s how you get armed interventions and stuff. So consider me a first warning. Don’t get in trouble, don’t be walking around the wrong part of town, friendly, neighborhood enforcer stuff.”

She shifted her weight. “Also, he’s got a question. An uncomfortable one, unfortunately.” Her grimace-smile widened into something sharp. “Where’s the body?”

 

“Body?”

Pharma’s mind went to Tarn, immediately. The body was alive and well, repaired and fully functional. But, of course, also not here. This mech...femme, worked for Prowl. That much was evident. Her name continued to elude Pharma and the mounting need to fly away was getting difficult to suppress.

“I feel like you’ve been privy to information I know nothing of. Enlighten me.”

 

“Don’t play the fool, doc. Tarn’s body in the morgue’s a goner. Now, while we  _ could _ just invade your apartment, I thought it might be nice to talk to you now and let you have an out. Now, Prowl doesn’t care if you’re talking to it, kissing it, fragging it - it doesn’t matter to him. You could’ve done all that in the morgue, except you’re not. You haven’t visited the morgue, and the body is gone. I think he thinks you smuggled it out, somehow.”

A small knife flicked out of her finger and she used it to scrape out dirt stuck in the corners of her badge. “Am I on the right track?”

 

The chill on Pharma’s spinal strut wasn’t fear, but desperation. Backing Pharma into any kind of corner was just dangerous business and Arcee had no idea that even she might be in over her helm.

“A morgue isn’t really a romantic setting, you see.”

Perhaps he could throw her off with what most mecha would find despicable and disgusting, but technically, not an offense.

 

“You could’ve told Prowl that. He might’ve been nice and made sure you got a cooler and everything. Going behind people’s backs isn’t really what friends do, doc. Not what Prowl’s friends to, at any rate.”

She shrugged. “Don’t think I’m threatening you. I’m not. Not unless you start giving me reason to. You’re not giving me a reason to, are you?”

 

“Why would I want to tell Prowl anything about it? Most mecha would react disgusted. I have no mind to make myself seem unreasonable.” Pharma wondered if her orders were to question him or to find reason to kill him. Either seemed entirely plausible from her perspective, probably.

“And I’m quite sure fragging a corpse wasn’t on Prowl’s list of lawful activities planned for me.”

 

Arcee grimaced some more. “You became unreasonable when you stole the body. Now - I’m of a mind to let you do it. Prowl isn’t. He thinks you’re going to do something with it - his outlier ability, perhaps. Any experimentation, he wants to keep an optic on. Just the business, you know how it is.”

She jerked off the archway and began to walk past Pharma. “Now, first strike,” she said, putting one finger up, “let’s not make that two. You’ve been told and this is your chance to come clean. Otherwise…”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I pay an unwanted visit. Or someone else does. It’ll depend on the roster of violently-inclined mecha.”

 

Pharma knew he should be careful now. Prowl could still ruin his plans, though it was difficult to be afraid when he had Tarn at his side, free and cruel, a beautiful behemoth of power.

So he laughed. Arcee might be capable of more than he could ever imagine, but she had no idea in turn what or whom she was threatening.

“You’ll pay me a visit, will you? I can’t wait. It’ll be a spectacle, femme. You might not like what you come to see. And maybe you should tell  Prowl he’s right to worry.”

He subspaced his bag, limbering up his servos. If he had to self-defend within the next minutes, he was going to cut through those sheathed blades with the precision befitting of a surgeon of his caliber.

 

She stared at him and his preparation. “I’m not going to fight you  _ here _ ,” she said, somewhat exasperated. “I don’t have enough trauma-induced violence in me for that yet.”

Still, it was kind of obvious he was hiding something. What it was, she didn’t know. Prowl certainly probably had at least ten working theories. She hadn’t met people so quick to jump into trouble helm-first, but hey - whatever suited him. “Try and keep an optic out,” she said, waving farewell, “it might be the last thing you see.”

 

“We’ll see. Do give my Prowl my regards. He will regret what he did to me. I guarantee it.”


	11. Chapter 11

Pharma didn’t take his optics off of Arcee until she was actually out of sight. He flew the rest of the way home, no longer willing to trust being on pede with his safety.

The romantic evening was going to have to be delayed. He and Tarn better move their plans along quickly. Prowl was definitely tipped off now, but he would have been suspicious anyway, given he sent an assassin to stalk Pharma.

It was unfortunate that Radia was in the hallway when Pharma arrived. The mech had done his best to avoid his neighbor(s) ever since the...incident. 

“Radia,” Pharma greeted him warmly. He blocked the mech off in the hallway, before his door. It was lucky he was out alone, and Pharma had a special treat planned for Tarn. 

 

He didn’t squeak, but he didn’t  _ not _ squeak either. Radia held up his datapad as if it were a shield to ward off Pharma, and eyed him cautiously over it. “Hello, Pharma,” he said, still too polite to even  _ imagine _ blowing him off, “it’s very nice to see you again.”

His weak tone implied the opposite. He mustered a watery smile, strongly diluted by wariness. “Uh - I can’t stop and talk, unfortunately. Glit and I have a date night, but it was very nice to see you again.” His optics flitted to the door for a second. “I’ll leave you to… whatever you were doing.”

_ I know what you’re doing _ , Radia’s optics said,  _ and I think it’s gross and freaky and I would strongly like to be left out of it. _

 

“Ah, hold on a moment, please.” Pharma could see his optics dart away. He was afraid. Good, natural instinct was kicking in, but unfortunately for Radia, it came too late. He was alone with Pharma in the hallway and although the medic wasn’t a behemoth or a combatant, he was tall and he didn’t have moral obligations.

Pharma moved to block the door.

“I wanted to apologise for the disruption when I first moved in.”

 

Radia danced away from him, as if Pharma carried some awful plague that would only be contracted if they touched. He half-heartedly tried to inch towards his own door, but Pharma was one leggy bastard. “It’s - it’s fine,” he said, waving it off frantically. “It happens to all of us. I was too hasty myself,  really, and I should have come much earlier to apologize.”

He inched back, then forward, as if he could not decide where he wanted to go. “Is that all? It must be, you are  _ such _ a busy mech. Pharma, dear, you’re blocking the door, maybe you could… move?”

 

“I thought we might share a neighborly drink, to toast to a better future hm?” Pharma continued to block the path, now herding Radia towards his own door. He knew Tarn would be aware there was something going on outside, but he trusted the mech knew better than to burst out into the hallway.

“You’re an eager medical student, as I recall. I certainly could give you access to some records that would blow your mind.”

 

“No, no, that isn’t necessary. Like I said, I have a date - okay, we’re doing this!” Radia found himself guided into Pharma’s door without much choice, somehow having failed to fend off Pharma’s servos despite his many attempts. The apartment itself was quite normal - an identical in shape and furniture to his, actually - but his apartment didn’t have a giant behemoth of a mech sitting in the middle of it.

Radia had a little shriek at the sight of the massive monster lurking in the apartment, all dark paint and glaring optics. He was even more frightening like this, terribly larger than life and starkly real.

Tarn, for his part, looked unimpressed.

 

Pharma pulled the door closed behind himself, Radia now trapped in the apartment with him and Tarn. The medic smiled lazily, fully aware that it must be somewhat shocking to find oneself in the presence of a living nightmare.

“Love, I brought dinner,” he pulled out his shopping bags from his subspace, depositing them on a table by the door. The energon could wait, there was something more entertaining on the menu.

“I’m sorry Radia, so rude of me not to make introductions. I believe you’ve met Tarn? Well...he was dead at the time.”

 

“You - you - you -” he was stuttering badly, trying to backpedal and failing as Pharma blocked the door. He shrunk as Tarn shifted, turning more of his attention on the two of them.

“Him?” he rumbled, eyeing up the pretty morsel plastering himself up against Pharma as well as he could. It was quite the pretty picture, actually. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed inner.”

Radia grabbed at Pharma. “Dinner?” he stammered, optics pale, “what are you - no, this is  _ not _ happening -”

“Hush him,” Tarn said, standing up from where he’d been browsing through the news. He advanced on them slowly, ignoring the increasing pitch of Radia’s gibbering.

 

Pharma grabbed Radia, clapping his hand over the mech’s mouth until he could disable the vocalizer with his other hand. Radia wasn’t quiet, or still, but his fear would be his downfall. Pharma had no compulsion that this would be their evening’s entertainment. And in the wake of a feast, he’d speak to Tarn about Prowl’s future.

“You can’t talk anymore. If you send a comm to Glit, he will be dessert, do you understand me?” Pharma caressed Radia’s audial as he spoke, lips ghosting over the side of his helm. Pharma’s optics were entirely glued to Tarn.

“Do you want to play first? He does have a healthy cog, and his vitals are all strong.”

 

Radia nodded, struggling. He begun to cry, making a mess of Pharma’s servo in the process. He possessed none of the fire of the mecha in the room with him, however - he’d never fought a day in his life and was softer than even Pharma. Next to Tarn, he might as well be a worm.

Tarn came closer and forcibly yanked his helm up to view his face in the light. “Pretty,” he remarked, then his optics slid up to Pharma’s, “but not as lovely as you.”

Besides, Radia had little of the qualities in Pharma that had interested Tarn in the first place. When Tarn let go of his chin and ran his claws down his neck and chest, Radia whimpered. Sandwiched between the two taller mecha, he could do little else but shrink down on himself, trying to be as small and harmless as possible. Tarn’s claws hovered over the badgeless chassis, then over the thin, decorative plating that marked Radia as a civilian. His touch was casually invasive, thinking nothing of feeling up someone who’d been a veritable stranger to him just minutes before.

 

“Of course not,” Pharma preened, a little, still holding Radia between himself and Tarn. Few could hope to match him in beauty, and only name came to mind. If Pharma knew where Cadence lived, he would probably lose his life tonight instead of Radia.

But he’d make due with the lesser choice. He bit into Radia’s audial, hard, the metal there soft and pliant.

“His filtration system is excellent. I think every part of him might be circulating inner energon.”

 

Tarn touched him as he appreciated the sight of Pharma displaying a little wildness. Radia looked like he might pass out from fear, but it was ignored. He was nothing, just metal, just a tool for their pleasures. When Tarn’s servo wrapped around his thin neck, Radia couldn’t even whimper anymore. He choked, spitting out static and fuzz as his disabled vocalizer began to crumple inside his throat. Overhead, Tarn nuzzled Pharma, pressing kisses on his neck and jaw. 

“He will be lovely to have,” Tarn agreed, “but I wonder - what drove you to this?”

Tarn took a step closer, pressing Radia up against Pharma even more. Pain squealed out between them as Radia’s EM field fluctuated, and Tarn simply wrapped around it, enjoyed it. His claws dug in and Radia tried to kick him, but it was useless against his armor.

Tarn kissed Pharma, their mouths passing by so close to Radia that he could listen to their vents. “You’ve been more bloodthirsty than usual.”

 

“I’m tired of hiding who I am,” Pharma purred, mouth full of Tarn’s taste, intoxicated by his lover’s rising charge and strong field. The mech between them could have been a lump of spare metal for all that Pharma cared. His hands were still on Radia, squeezing at thin plating, but all of his attention was focused on Tarn.

“I wanted to give you a gift. That’s normal for a mech in love, is it not?”

 

“Mm, I suppose you could say it is.” Tarn’s attention briefly turned to Radia, who was weeping between them. “And what a  _ tasty  _ little gift you’ve given me indeed.”

His servo tensed and with a crunch of metal, Radia’s vocalizer was destroyed. Smoke streamed from it as he tried to scream, but only a thin, pitiful wail of static escaped his gaping mouth. He was shaking all over, but Tarn hushed him almost tenderly, wiping away his tears as he hummed. “No, none of that. You’ll die, but you’ll have  _ fun _ first.”

His claws ghosted over Radia’s damp cheeks and Tarn could have been mistaken for a friend or lover then, comforting Radia, but the truth was soon revealed. His claws raked down, ripping open long, ugly rents in his neck that made Radia jerk and quiver in agony. He was still screaming, but it was soundless.

Tarn breathed in his pain, optics dimming as he relished it. He’d hardly done anything, and already Radia was struggling, sobbing, begging. Tarn kissed Pharma again, and there was more heat in it, a little more cruelty in his bites and dragging pressure. “Bring him in,” he ordered, leaving Pharma with stinging, bitten lips.

 

It would be a delight unlike anything else Pharma had done before. Yes, he’d had patients on a slab that received surgeries they didn’t need in the middle of the night. Yes, he’d murdered his entire staff with a clear conscience, watching them die one by one as he looked on, able to help them but unwilling. This though, this was torture of a live victim, and it was new and terribly exciting. His charge was humming, his engine was heated. This was new and to be shared with Tarn. It would be fantastic.

“Come on, Radia,” Pharma took him by the shoulders, guiding the poor mech to the berth that Pharma didn’t use. It would be easier to do interesting things to his frame if he was laying down.

“This’ll be nice and comfortable for you,” he treated him with the care of a concerned medic, patting and reassuring the mech as he obeyed.

“Is that good? Nothing pinching?” He didn’t expect an answer as he transformed his hand into a small blowtorch, which he brought over Radia’s wrists. Melting plating was certainly no medical procedure, but it would help keep Radia in place.

 

Tarn let Pharma work. He offered advice here and there, but largely kept out of it for the first part, letting Pharma secure their unexpected dinner guest. Once everything was done, he swooped in again.

“Is this your first time?” he asked Pharma. Tarn ran his servo over Radia, from the tips of his pinned arms to his legs. He was thin and sinuous, clearly designed with an aesthetic optic in mind. Tarn dipped a claw into a few sensitive spots and plucked the wires there, and watched Radia whimper. He was still crying, Tarn noted, and felt himself heat more.

He wiped his tears again. 

 

“First time I consciously chose someone like this, yes,” Pharma watched Tarn’s movements with hungry optics. He wasn’t doing damage to cripple Radia, but the things he destroyed, the wires he pulled, those would hurt. They only served to heighten Pharma’s excitement.

“Where do we start?”

 

“I want you to do it properly, then.” Tarn spread his servos, palm up, and gestured over Radia in a sweeping motion. “I am no medic but I know something about  _ pain _ . You take your time with it. You let them know it’s coming, you let them fear it. But you don’t  _ rush _ .”

Tarn lowered his servos onto Radia. The mech flinched hard. “He’s scared,” Tarn noted, smirking curling up his face, “look at him. He’s never expected  _ this _ .”

His claws followed Radia’s seams, letting him tremble in anticipation of more pain before Tarn eased and moved on. “It’s alright,” Tarn crooned, “it’ll end eventually.”

He looked up at Pharma. “Come here,” he purred. “Bring your sharpest scalpel. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

He looked down again. “As for you…  **let’s shake things up, shall we** ?”

Radia didn’t flinch in pain. No, that would be too straightforward. Tarn wanted Pharma to see  _ everything _ that could be done. Instead of pain, Radia’s fans clicked online and his legs squeezed together as more tears pricked his optics. He was shaking his helm, begging  _ no, no, please, no _ .

 

Pharma studied with the curious and attentive optics of a medical student witnessing a master of the craft at work. Of course, he’d never have Tarn’s talent at his disposal, but he was fascinated by its effect nonetheless. Pleasure could be as terrible as pain to hold over a victim. Pharma himself had fallen prey to this method of Tarn’s repeatedly in the past. His hand held up the scalpel in readiness, the other hand clenching the berth. Tarn’s voice was in his frame, in his core and spark, and it was doing delightful things to him that fired up his fans too.

“Love, he’s dripping on the berth.”

 

“He’ll be dripping everywhere, if we do this right.”

Tarn took his place behind Pharma. He pressed up against his back, radiating heat, and wrapped his servos around Pharma’s. His were smaller and delicate, but Tarn held them as if they were sugar glass. Gently, he directed his touch while he murmured into his audial.

“We avoid the spark for now - spark shock has killed many subjects before things were completed. No, the best place to start is  _ here _ \- the middle. Make an incision there - lightly now - and stop short of the circuits underneath. Slice sideways, and you  _ pull _ .”

Tarn edged his claws into the thin slice made into Radia’s abdomen and pulled it back. The metal resisted before bending back, yawning, opening. Energon splashed out of the cuts as the connections between the protoform and the plating separated with wet  _ thwip-thwip _ sounds. Frayed wires stuck out, the metal squealed, and Tarn continued to pull. Like a flower petal, the one section bent back, revealing the delicate circuitry hidden under it.

“See this?” he asked, brushing a servo over the revealed swathe of circuitry. “This is all the sensors he has here. So  _ delicate _ , so  _ sensitive _ …”

He touched each one and Radia fell apart into a mess under his touch. Tarn hummed his slow melody, teasing his spark into thinking it was rocking with pleasure, not pain. Peeling his plating back had made his panel snap aside. The slow drag of Tarn’s claws over his exposed circuits made Radia drip onto the berth shamefully, trying to close his legs and failing. When Tarn sunk his claws in, breaking apart connections in small bursts of sparks and fizzling wires, Radia seized, back arching.

 

Pharma was enthralled. He followed each tear, each cut, admiring the beauty of Tarn’s design. A mech’s frame could be forced to take whatever shape you wished, if you were only bold enough. Tarn’s presence made Pharma bold. Radia was on the brink of agony, but Tarn’s talent had him believe it was ecstasy. It was fascinating to watch charge on live wires, even with the connections broken. Pharma could see how this became such a favoured pastime for Tarn, and he turned his head to press a kiss to Tarn’s face.

“I should be jealous of how beautiful you make it look,” he purred, servos dancing over Radia’s wounds. This wasn’t fatal damage yet. Pharma could keep a mech alive with spark and helm alone, so this was nothing.

“I wonder if your voice could mask any type of pain. I’d like to experiment, love.” 

Some of Pharma’s tools resided in his subspace and he extracted a heating core now. It wasn’t perfectly shaped to fit where he wanted it to go, but a little jamming and Radia’s lubricant helped ease it into place inside of his open valve. Pharma switched it to the highest setting, where it would get hot enough to scorch the metal, melt the calipers, and destroy the nodes.

 

Radia has struggled as Pharma found something to shove into his valve. It’d been too big and awkward, requiring much working and wiggling to fit into him. It had almost not worked, but Tarn took his knees and spread them so that Pharma could complete his work. Legs splayed, Radia could only shriek in silent humiliation as his valve was forced to take in the intrusion. The bulky device was left in and with more working, was shoved in deep enough inside that it could not come out without significant effort.

Judging by Radia’s constant wriggling, he was trying. It only went in deeper and he cried as his nodes lit up, helplessly aroused regardless. When Pharma turned the heat on, however, his wriggling became different. He kicked, optics wide, trying to escape the growing heat inside of him. It was strangely warm at first, before growing uncomfortably so. But the temperature kept rising until it was painful, and that was when Tarn interfered.

His power seized his spark, deceived it. The pain became spine-melting pleasure. Radia rocked back where he was kicking before, trying to rub himself into an overload even as his internals melted and welded together. Molten metal, steaming, streamed out of his valve and still Radia screamed and sobbed in ecstasy.

Tarn watched it approvingly. “You’re a wicked thing,” he said, rubbing along Pharma’s waist and hip, breathed hot air into his neck. “Let’s keep going.”

He took hold of Radia’s pedes next. Under his grip, they twisted and warped until they snapped. Struts stuck out of plating and oozed energon as Tarn worked in increments, taking his time to crush everything before he moved on. Energon burst out each time and he frequently stopped to lick the energon off his claws, savoring the taste. Radia’s knee strut ripped out of his knee guard as he finished, and Tarn wrapped his servo around it and pulled it out of him entirely.

 

Pharma couldn’t help but think of steamed petrolcrabs, which used to be an Altihexan delicacy. They had eight, segmented legs, and were prepared whole. One had to pluck the legs out of the main body and suck the gelled energon fresh from the limb. They were delicious. Radia was just a larger, uncooked version. Pharma reached out to Tarn’s hand, bringing the claws to his lips. 

“Let me try,” he muttered, sucking energon off of claws large enough to crush his entire faceplate.

 

Pharma offered his mouth, so how could Tarn turn it down? He slid his slick claws past his lips and let him suckle the energon off them. Tarn watched him, watched his mouth work, and his optics dimmed to a hazy, blurry red. “You are eager,” he commented, “but this is not about us.”

And while he would have liked to take up on what was offered, a victim could not be kept on the ropes for too long. They would start losing their luster that way.

“We move onto the next,” he said, and took Pharma’s servo. He suddenly wanted this experience to be two-fold - to enjoy his sadism play, but to also see Pharma debased. He’d walked into this, had he not? He’d  _ wanted _ to be shown all the ways people could be broken.

So he ought to take greater part in what he was doing.

Tarn slid two of Pharma’s fingers into Radia’s mouth. It’d been open in a perpetual gasp as he drooled, crushed throat sparking as sound tried to come out, and it sealed around his fingers now. Radia sucked on them, rocking and silently mewling around the blockage. He was earnest in what he did - his glossa pressed up against Pharma’s servo and oral fluid dripped down the corners of his mouth messily. Heat stuttered from his system as charge crackled down the exposed, broken circuits. Tarn pressed Pharma against him, closer, made Pharma press his servo down on the mess of wires on Radia’s middle where naked charge traveled. His palm, guided by Tarn, sunk into hot energon that crackled, all while heat from the damage inside him radiated outward.

 

It was both disgusting and invigorating. The latter sensation won out over the former and Pharma made a small sound, a pleased gasp escaping him as his hand felt loose parts and raw charge. His panel was aching already, and Tarn pressed to his back, radiating heat, did nothing to stifle that sensation. Radia was a bleeding, open mess and he was writhing with agonized pleasure. Pharma wanted to see him die like this, watch his spark fade out as he’d seen plenty of others do. But not yet.

“He’s good at sucking,” Pharma noted, fingers petting Radia’s tongue in reward.

 

A jolt of electricity darted up from Radia’s struggling form and into Pharma. Tarn watched it dance up and down the medic’s arm as he leaned against him, pushing up against his warming form. Tarn ached to bend Pharma over, right over the mech on the berth, and frag him until he overloaded. But he withheld. No. There was more he wanted done.

Radia howled when Tarn ripped apart the next half of his abdomen. He was wavering between pleasure and pain now, while his movements got weaker. Tarn allowed him the brief, momentary respite to set up his next scene.

“Open him up,” Tarn instructed, drawing a straight line from Radia’s abdomen to his neck with his claw. “Keep steady.”

Contrary to his words, his servo was currently wandering between Pharma’s legs. Tarn took his time, more prospective than anything.

 

Working under pressure was one thing, working with his aft perched on an open mech full of charge and energon was another. Pharma placed the scalpel against Radia’s chest, but he kept stopping before he could make the cut, entirely distracted by the raging lust pulsing through him every time Tarn brushed close enough.

He’d use the saw, if he didn’t think it would end things too quickly. The scalpel shook for another moment, even though it was attached to Pharma’s hand, before it sunk in deep, slicing plating like butter.

Pharma’s cuts were more delicate than Tarn’s actions. He peeled back layers slowly, brushing his free hand over the exoskeleton that kept the protoform in shape. Pharma also paused to try more energon, and it was oddly delicious too. 

Over the sparkchamber, he was even more careful, making sure not to cut into the grand prize. He fully intended to have Tarn crack that open for him like a tribute.

Once finished with his gruesome task, Pharma leaned down to lick some inner energon from Radia’s open neck.

“I’m getting a taste for this,” he whispered, heatedly as his hips began to move on the mess of a mech beneath him.

 

Tarn smoothed his servos down the side of Pharma’s thighs, “You’ll have more than just a taste, soon enough,” he said, listening to the now-pained groans of Radia under Pharma. Tarn shifted to stroke his tear-wet face and his optics onlined again. He stared up at the mech perched on him, and Tarn flicked away more tears.

“ **Don’t cry** ,” he said and Rdia shuddered, optics shuttering as he felt another hot flush through him. The pain washed away and all there was left was all-consuming need. The bulk inside his valve was not enough. His mouth fell open again, and Tarn traced his bottom lip before looking up at Pharma.

“ **You look so eager** ,” he purred, and cupped Pharma’s hot panel. “You would have been so embarrassed, once upon a time. You would have been like him, ashamed by yourself.”

Tarn rubbed a slow circle on his panel with his thumb, watching Pharma indulgently. “Are you embarrassed now, Pharma? Look at yourself. You’re just as bad as me now.”

 

Pharma felt not an ounce of shame as he ground himself against Tarn’s hand. Whatever revolting mess was beneath him, it was once alive. And he’d helped turn an entire mech into nothing. They’d reduced Radia to nothing, and they’d done so together, with Tarn taking the time to lovingly teach Pharma where to go slow and inefficiently in order to increase the suffering.

“Bad? I don’t see anything bad, love. I see an evening’s worth of entertainment and an adequate supply of energon.” Pharma looked down at Radia, grinding his hips into Tarn’s hand and the mess beneath him, “A token gift for our shared time together.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Tarn praised. Radia had been reduced to soft whimpers under Pharma, trying in vain to struggle as his optics faded more and more. Energon puddled from his wounds onto the berth and the floor, raising a thick, greasy stench in the air. Naked sparks occasionally caught in the fuel, but it did not light. Pharma sat atop this all, glorious and vain, relishing the depravity he had been urged into.

Tarn drew him closer and kissed Pharma. Radia sobbed as Tarn’s power released the last of its hold on him and the full brunt of pain crashed over him in a tidal wave. He was too weak to fight back and so could only lay back, pleading for a swift death.

“I want you to kill him,” Tarn murmured to Pharma. “Look into his optics as you do it and know that you didn’t do this to defend yourself, or to save other people. You did this because you  _ could _ .”

 

“Not a problem,” Pharma chased Tarn's mouth for another kiss as the fate of their victim was decided to rest in his hands. There were plenty of ways to kill a mech, but Pharma had something in mind already. He leaned over Radia, letting those dim optics see the hatred in his. Pharma felt no pity, only deep contempt for the life he was about to take as he let his saw transform and dive into the spark chamber he'd spared earlier. Sentio metallico gave way to the tool with ease and the disturbed, blue flickering of Radia’s spark reflected on Pharma's face.

The medic reached in and grabbed. Sparks were always rooted in the chamber, one tangible thread of plasma that attached to the housing, almost like a power cable. Pharma grabbed Radia’s in his hands and pulled.

 

Radia followed the pull, chest jerking up so to relieve some of the pressure. But he was pressed down by Tarn, who planted his servos on Radia’s shoulders and let Pharma work in peace. The tear of the spark was something mighty - the plasma sputtered and spat as it writhed wildly, scorching Pharma’s invasive servos. Radia howled - or tried to - and kicked his mangled, useless legs.

But little by little, things were giving way. The spark’s tether snapped and the miniature star flared once before it flickered and waned. Grey spread across Radia as his own plasma tried to reach for him and failed.

 

Pharma held the spark in hand, watching it slip from life. It was different than watching Tarn go grey, or seeing his Delphi staff bleed their internals into viscous rust from every orifice. This death, it belonged to him without touching upon his emotions. There was delight in him, and charge from Tarn’s eager attentions.

He’d killed Radia, intimately, slowly, like a real member of Tarn’s gruesome bunch of murderers. And he’d liked it.

“I want to cut his helm off. Put it in front of Glit’s door. It’s their date-night, maybe he wants to frag that mouth, hm?”

 

“Whatever you please,” Tarn said, watching Pharma stare at the body. So it was done - Pharma was closer to where Tarn was than ever before. He'd been properly blooded at last.

“We drain him first. Take his T-cog. Then… then we have fun.”

Tarn swiped a claw through energon and licked it. Unfiltered, it was strong-flavored and pungent, but he could detect the taste he liked so much in it.

 

“So basic deconstruction then.” Pharma was a little put off by the prospect. Without the tears and the struggling, Radia was just a still corpse and a pile of spare parts. The thrill of it was seeping out just like Radia’s energon.

Pharma clambered off of the mech, sneer returning to his face.

“I don’t have a lot of spare cubes. What do we drain into?”

 

“Any unused container will do,” Tarn said, not particularly caring about the process by which  he went at it. “But that can wait.”

He swept Pharma into his arms, holding him close and tight. “We have some unattended business to finish.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Unattended business was a completely understated comment on the situation. Tarn and Pharma had something to tend to alright, and that was a high-profile rebellion of Decepticons, willing to send a message to the rest of the planet.

Since the night they’d taken Radia, Pharma and Tarn had disappeared from the hab-suite. They’d met with Onslaught and some other named Decepticons of influence to organize, and so far, the plans looked solid. Half of the ‘cons would be storming the public trial of their beloved leader, whilst the other secured ships. The Tyranny would be chief among them of course, considering it was Tarn’s flagship and still in good order. 

Pharma didn’t want to attend the trial, didn’t want to see the fighting and feel threatened by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, so he and Tarn had agreed he would join them along the way and stand by in case Megatron needed immediate medical assistance.

It felt energizing to be part of something. Pharma didn’t have to play coy or nice, he’d be accepted because he was with Tarn, and he’d be respected for his skills. That’s how Tarn painted the picture, and it was one Pharma would admire in the future if it came true.

What he missed inside of the trial building was nothing short of chaos. A legion of Decepticons stormed the building and Tarn was at their forefront. They screamed and roared Megatron’s designation, ready to die for their beliefs and their loyalties. With Tarn leading them, how could they lose? How could anyone resist the nightmare power of the DJD’s commander?

Pharma was watching the spectacle on a screen in a busy street, standing by a street vendor and enjoying a triple-filtered treat. Soon, there’d be a lack of expensive things, until Tarn could find them again and gift them to his love.

Pharma was happy. Finally, the future was shaping up in his favor. They’d leave Cybertron, of course, at first. They’d find some place to regroup. Someone called Payout mentioned a warworld, and that would be the goal to reach and regroup. Pharma didn’t care for the military strategy, he just wanted to see himself and Tarn live together, in a position of power and security. Megatron was still an issue he’d deal with, but he was on Tarn’s side of things now. And Tarn had promised him the respect of the Decepticons. They would praise him, admire him for what he could do. Pharma wouldn’t be left behind, he would be in their midst, throning next to Tarn. 

Tarn...the mech he’d killed and brought back because he couldn’t stand not having him around. It was an odd road, this path of madness and love. Pharma had done the craziest things, but they’d always served only him. It was new that his wishes included another. He couldn’t even find it terribly disturbing, because Tarn fit his life like a piston. He just seemed seamlessly compatible. Sure, their start was...rough. Tarn was entrenched in his faith, Pharma in seeing only what he disliked. Yet, the universe conspired to bring them together, and here they were. At the face of a minor revolution and disaster. It was delightful. Pharma knew that his future involved Tarn, because he put everything into it he had. From the reanimation to the reforge, he’d given Tarn everything. Even the mask he used to hate, the perfect symbol of Tarn’s dedication to another, returned at his hands. Not because Pharma was giving Tarn back to Megatron, oh no. He would keep that handsome face and Tarn’s love to himself and guard it jealously.

He was happy.

-x-

Nothing could quite encompass the boiling intensity of a group of angry Decepticons. Words couldn’t capture the strut-deep fury at the world and everything in it, born from millennia-long injustice weighed a thousand-fold with every passing decade. The Decepticons of Megatron’s army were the scum of the streets – laborers and menials, undesirables and forgotten ones; people who’ve yet to forget the hard living they’d been forced to endure for something none of them could control. To be singled out, to be ostracized, to be  _ culled _ for something as meaningless as their function… it made hatred fester hotly in their sparks like poison.

Autobots mistook Megatron to be a figurehead of the cause. They thought he was the tip of the spear and they could not be more wrong.

Megatron wasn’t the point or vanguard of anything. No, it was not so simple.

Megatron  _ was _ them. He was the howling, screaming fury inside every Decepticon back when they’d been forced to lick the streets to taste the run-off from the Towers. He was the beast in their minds that roared back at every insult and degradation. He was everything that made the Decepticons  _ fight _ .

To have him caged was to have  _ them _ caged. Everything the Autobots did after they won the war was proof of the inevitable structure of their way of like – those at the top would  _ stay _ at the top. So what were they to do but rally behind Megatron and tear out the framework wherever they saw, and burn it to ashes?

To be a Decepticon was to rip Functionism apart. To be a Decepticon was to rip  _ society _ apart. It was the constant grind for the bloody call of destiny and they would answer it, again and again.

No, Megatron could not be a prisoner. Never.  _ Never _ .

They blasted through the walls of his sham trial and poured in like a raging river. Some of them would die. Some of them would fall. But it was worth it, because dying for a damn  _ reason _ was better than dying because someone else fragging through you should. Megatron was torn away from the pageantry of the trial, with the Prime still sitting precedence, and while the Autobots may have screeched at the loss of their victory, it was too late for them to act.

Megatron was free. He was  _ free _ .

Tarn lead the charge, fighting like the nightmare they feared him to be. He steamrolled through Autobots – tore and crushed anyone who dared come against him while his deadly voice destroyed the rest. It was chaos as the witnesses shrieked and Starscream, traitor and whore to power, scrambled to escape.

_ No more _ , the Decepticons snarled.  _ No more _ , they bellowed.  _ No more _ !  _ No more _ !

They would stand here and no further. It was the only certainty they had and they would hold onto it forever.

Tarn fought for many things. He fought in the name of his lord, in the name of the creator who’d raised him up from a shell of a mech. He fought for the Cause, for the tenets that forged him. And secretly, in the smallest part of him, he fought for something else; a hope, perhaps, of something beyond the endless war of their lives. He fought for something smaller and softer, for something that was impossible.

It had a name and a face, but it was not one that could be said. So Tarn hissed death and people fell to their knees before him, and he carved a bloody path to his lord. “This way,” Tarn urged, bowing even as he smashed someone’s helm in with a backhand, “the Peaceful Tyranny waits for you, my lord!”

 

Megatron had known they’d come. 

Ever since his speech, he knew they’d come. They knew he’d never lay down as he did, would never speak the words Optimus wrote for him. His old nemesis should have known better than to try his hand at something Megatron perfected. The master wordsmith would not be outdone by a tired adversary.

And his people, they came. Megatron did not need to command them for them to do what was right. And he would not stop them either, allowing his trial to be torn apart, for his cuffs to be struck from his wrists and for his best-forged weapon to clear him a path.

The Autobots and the audience were left behind, a clearing carved through the street by the swarm of Decepticons around him. Guns blazed, energon was spilled, and Cybertron would regret attempting to falsely trial the leader of the hopeless.

Already, he planned ahead. To get off-world and assess the state of things was paramount. He needed to know how many he had left, and how to apply his forces to ensure that the new peace would be met on his terms. 

Tarn had done well, not being dead. A nightmare come back to life, only to serve faithfully. Megatron may even reward him.

The Tyranny was waiting for them, engines warm, ramps extended, the path secured by familiar faces. Megatron would speak to each of them for their service. Hardened lines, scarred faceplates, the blaze of purple on each chest. This was how it was supposed to be.

Megatron took the first step on the ramp and turned to survey the crowd.

“Decepticons, the first step to our final victory has begun today.”

It wasn’t a rousing speech, and yet, the crowd went wild with cheers, filing past Megatron into the ship. His optics blazed, scorching each of them and every Decepticon was newly awash with the passion that had them fall into line behind the former gladiator in the first place.

Pharma arrived at the foot of the ramp, his optics not on the almighty Megatron, but Tarn.

 

The Tyranny was reduced from its former glory thanks to its internment with the Autobots, but it was still a fine ship, fast and nimble. It would bear Megatron far from here, faster than any of these civilian-class and cruiser-class starships that’d limped to Cybertron since the call. Tarn watched him ascend before he found another face in the crowd.

Pharma.

He caught up to him before anything else could happen and lifted Pharma up, elation making his spark soar. He spun him around and thankfully, the cheering crowds were too distracted by the return of their lord to notice his uncharacteristic act. Tarn set him down just as quickly and held his servo, pleased by everything that was coming together. His expression could not be divined from beyond his fresh mask, but his optics danced with uncommon light.

“We’re almost there,” he said, voice low to preserve their open secret. “I will take you to him.”

 

With the hand-holding and the spinning, it was impossible to miss the two of them. Pharma clutched the claws that held his servo gently, eager to meet his future with the mech he loved beyond reason. 

“I can’t wait to leave.”

Megatron was the last mech at the top of the ramp, and his face was stony to say the least. Not that he was usually a myriad of expressions playing together, but his thunderous gaze bode anything but well. He looked Pharma up and down. Unimpressed by his polish, his long limbs and his freshly painted badge, Megatron crossed his arms and waited for an explanation of sorts.

Tarn had him in tow. And not just that, he was openly displaying affection. Megatron sensed that his loyal weapon might have been up to more than just planning to free him and faking his death. And that...was not a good sign.

Tarn was designed to serve, not to live. He’d willingly given Megatron his mind, to be reshaped. He was a hammer, a dagger in a sleeve, a cannon blast to the spark. He was supposed to be free of emotion and attachment, save for Megatron. Only then could he be truly loyal, when nothing stood between him and executing an order.

And to top it all off, Megatron  _ knew  _ what a forged frame looked like. This medic screamed nothing but high caste.

 

“My lord,” Tarn said eagerly, dragging Pharma in behind him, “it looks as if everything is set and we leave on your order. Before that, however, I want to introduce to you my… medic, Pharma.”

Pharma was brought in front of Tarn. He presented him like a proud son with their sweetheart, a little eager despite the professionalism. “He is an accomplished medic,” Tarn said, “and loyal to the Cause. I can assure you, my lord, that he would be a vital addition to your forces in not just medical value, but scientific as well.”

Tarn fidgeted then, as if ruminating on what he wanted to say for a split-second longer than he should have. “All troublesome… former associations have been thoroughly sheared away,” he added, “he is only loyal to you. I vouch for him.”

Tarn pushed Pharma forward a little, digging a knuckle into his back to make him bow. 

 

Pharma was loathed to bow to this mech, someone who, in his opinion, should never even have received a trial. A triple tap would have been the only way to make sure Megatron was no longer dangerous, and right here was the proof.

He bent his frame regardless, for Tarn. That was the only mech that mattered, the only star in Pharma’s sky beside his own. For Tarn, Pharma would swallow his pride and bow to a filthy miner with ideas too big for his helm.

Megatron seemed nonplussed by the introduction. His optics ticked over Pharma, searching him for something only he’d see. 

“He’s high caste.”

“I am.”

Pharma spoke, because Decepticons valued pride and strength of character, did they not? If he showed fear, they’d lump him in with the enemy.

“Worked in Iacon before it all, I imagine?”

“Yes. After graduating Deltaraan. Iacon Central Hospital, I was lined up for CMO.”

“Is that so?” Megatron’s tone gave Pharma nothing to work with and he scrambled for an answer to a rhetorical question, glancing at Tarn for help.

“Yes, I worked for various high-end institutions, the neurological department of the hospital as well as the research division.”

Megatron’s gaze hardened and Pharma knew something of what he’d said hadn’t sat well with the leader of Decepticons. But he was here with Tarn’s vouching for him, surely Megatron would see reason to let him stay.

“And you joined the Cause when?”

“...A-after the surrender.”

“And why?”

Pharma bit his glossa. Megatron was laying him a trap, verbally, and he was doing it with his optic burning through Pharma’s thin sheet of confidence.

“Because it’s...it’s where I belong.”

Megatron let him stew for half a minute and he would not be interrupted as he made up his mind.

“No. It isn’t. You are  _ not  _ a Decepticon. And I am tired of having opportunistic glitchrats under my command.”

His verdict was reached. Megatron leveled a stare at Tarn.

“Kill him. We’re leaving.”

 

“My lord!” Tarn blurted, aghast at the rapid-fire interrogation that had seen Pharma almost literally wilt under Megatron's questioning. He stepped up, a servo raised as if to shield Pharma from his flat, unimpressed gaze. “He is new, yes,” Tarn said, “but that does not mean he cannot serve you. He was important to your release, as without him, I would be dead.”

It was a…  _ liberal _ … twist of the truth, but it wasn’t technically a lie. Besides, Tarn could explain the story in full to him later, when his lord wasn’t busy with other, more important matters. He looked pleading, trying to bank on whatever marginal good-will his lord might have for him after years of loyal, devoted service.

“Let him prove himself. Please.”

 

Megatron tilted his helm, and it wasn’t a kind gesture. 

“Are you  _ refusing  _ an order, Tarn? Am I hearing this correctly?”

Pharma could feel panic rise up like bile in his throat and hatred form anew for Megatron. Who was this mech to judge him?! Who was this mech to pass on all of Pharma’s talents as if they meant nothing? Fear clutched at his throat for an instant. Would Tarn follow his lord? Would he remember that he loved Pharma?

“Tarn, please, tell him what I can do, what I’ve done!”

Megatron’s denta ground and anger had his engine thunder.

“I gave you an order. Kill him.”

 

“My lord… reconsider it.” Tarn was shaking at the thought of even hesitating with an order, but he held onto Pharma tightly, looking almost betrayed. “I - I died. And Pharma - he brought me back to life, that is why I chose to bring him in. He can repeat it! It would be a boon to you, my lord, I did not choose him lightly, and -”

Tarn was actually shaken now. His smooth words stammered and fell over themselves as Megatron stared at him, scorched him inside out with his level stare, made Tarn feel as small as a weed. He wanted to throw himself at his pedes and beg for forgiveness, but Pharma’s terrified EM field made Tarn stiffen his spine. He didn’t want to defy  _ anything _ , he didn’t want to refuse his lord anything, but Tarn couldn’t - he couldn’t -

He just wanted something for himself, just  _ once _ .

“I beg of you,” he pleaded, sinking to his knees, abandoning pride for the sake of that small, soft hope, “my lord, punish me, beat me,  _ anything _ … just… grant your servant this one favor. I’ll ask for nothing else.”

 

Megatron watched him, his expression unchanged as he made his way down the ramp. Pharma shrank back behind Tarn, terrified and insulted and too outraged to run. He wouldn’t leave Tarn now, not when he finally had him and could see a future for himself. Not when he was so close to being happy.

Megatron ignored him and knelt with Tarn. He leaned forward, making sure his frame never brushed Tarn, but he could feel the venting on his audial.

“Listen to me. I’m only going to explain this because you are deserving of an explanation.” He paused, making sure he had all of Tarn’s attention as his field flooded into Tarn’s.

“Look at how much you’ve already fallen. Do you not see him for what he is? A distraction, sent to part you from my side, and it’s already working.”

Megatron’s hands came up as he cupped Tarn’s face, pulling back so their gazes could meet.

“Are you no longer my faithful one, Tarn? Have you abandoned your purpose? Will you betray me?”

 

“Never!” Tarn cried and reached up to touch Megatron but knew he shouldn’t. He hesitated and from under his mask, his face was broken. “He’s a Decepticon, he wouldn’t…”

Old doubts resurfaced again. Tarn had thought they had been banished, but his lord’s questions made them revive. Now, they were questions with his face and voice, casting shadow on Pharma. Tarn wanted to cover his audials and scream for them to shut up, but he could not. Not when they were from  _ him _ .

“Please, my lord,” Tarn said, “ _ please _ .”

_ Let me have him. Please. I am loyal, always loyal, but I want him. _

He couldn’t kill Pharma. He couldn’t. Not after hating him, not after wanting him, not after loving him.

 

“Tarn, let’s just go. Let’s run. Please.” Pharma was two seconds from taking off, turbine whining as he was frozen like a deer in headlights, trying to reach out and not touch Tarn at the same time. He could see Megatron’s claws dig into his love, ripping him away, and desperation became full-blown fear. 

“See? See how he’s trying to convince you to become a traitor? There’s no question about this, Tarn. Do as I say. Or you will no longer have a place at my side.”

Megatron stood up and took two steps back, on the ramp once more, waiting.

 

“...I understand.”

Tarn slowly stood, shoulders hunched, fists clenched. “I… see.”

Pharma was right behind him. Tarn could run now, could use his voice to stun his lord, and run with him, to New Iacon, to the wilderness, to anywhere that was not  _ here _ . And they could - they could…

They could do something. Anything.

All if he gave up his loyalties. All if he let go of his lord and his purpose. All if he let go of  _ himself _ .

Pharma’s turbine was revving. Before he could take a step back, Tarn grabbed him. He drew him into an embrace, tight and unrelenting, as if trying to make him understand  _ why _ before he did what he did. “I love you,” Tarn said, trying to reaffirm despite what would happen.

“You must believe me,” he said as his servo wrapped around Pharma’s turbine and crushed it. “I do.”

“I’m sorry.”

 

He should have flown. He should have, but he couldn’t. Pharma felt numb, long before the pain of his crushed turbine wrenched a scream from his throat. When had he started crying? Before Tarn pulled him against his chestplate? After? He couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but choke on pain and betrayal and sparkbreak.

“Don’t do this, please, please, Tarn, I love you, don’t do this,” Pharma’s fingers scrabbled over Tarn’s plating, leaving nothing but blue smears on the purple and black.

“You don’t have to do this, please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, you promised you wouldn’t.” His engine sputtered as his cog tried for transformation but found it impossible without the turbine. Pharma’s fingers clawed at the mask latches.

“Please don’t leave me behind too, please!” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Tarn repeated, numb. He couldn’t say anything else. He could feel Megatron watching them, judging what was happening, and Tarn only wanted to break more. He let Pharma rip his mask off and Tarn’s face was in the process of shattering.

He pointed his cannon at Pharma’s chest. It would be cleaner than anything else he could offer and easier than his voice. “I’ll stay until you’re gone,” Tarn said, “I promise.”

It was meaningless, because he still shot him.

It was amazing, the damage a blast from a fusion cannon could do. Pharma never stood a chance. It’d been point-blank, through the spark chamber, the cleanest death that he could offer anyone. It was cold, it was cruel, and Tarn sank with his collapsing frame, holding it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, to the still-warm corpse that he could not revive. “I have to. I can’t - I can’t…”

What did his excuses matter?

He cradled his frame close, as if trying to apologize in action. Tarn was small, then, smaller than ever. He could not cry but he sobbed dryly as the soft hope withered up and died. He’d forgotten this. He’d wanted to forget this.

 

There truly was nothing Pharma could have done to escape or survive that shot. It was over in an instant, without even enough time for his optics to dry up. His expression of shock, terror, and betrayal were frozen on his face, even as the optics dimmed to black and his plating rapidly turned grey. The spark was obliterated, no sliver, no residue. Just gone.

Megatron wanted to tap a foot. Tarn was being dramatic, and clearly far too attached to this posed distraction. He wouldn’t be surprised to find this Pharma to have been planted in Tarn’s path years ago, by someone like Prowl. Someone with pieces on the board.

There was no more time to waste.

“Leave him and come, Tarn. We have a war to win.”

 

Pharma wasn’t even finished greying. Tarn should stay with him, just to see him finally snuff out before he was gone. It was the least he could do.

_ I’ll stay until you’re gone,  _ he had promised.

He didn’t. He rose up slowly and let go of Pharma, leaving him to lay on the dirt, and stepped back. Tarn stared at him and wondered if this was how Pharma felt after he died - curiously empty, as if everything had been stripped of meaning. It was done. It was gone.

All those evenings spent together were dust. Bargaining with Pharma, arguing with him, plotting and scheming against each other even while they kissed - it was nothing now. In the space of a few seconds, Tarn had destroyed a whole world.

He stepped back, up the ramp. He almost sagged against Megatron, still staring at the corpse as if he could not comprehend it. Would this be what he did? Would he just… leave Pharma? Here, on the dirt like a discarded toy? As if he never meant anything at all?

_ Leave him _ .

He clutched Megatron. It was the only way to stop the quiver in his servos. Using him as his strength, Tarn turned away from Pharma. “...I already have,” he said softly, and walked into the ship.

So Pharma had been right about him after all. Pharma had been right about it all.

Maybe he would be happy about that, wherever he went.

 

Megatron said nothing to Tarn, patting him once on the shoulderguard to make note of his approval before the mech disappeared into the ship.

He looked back at the corpse in the dirt. Whatever Pharma had been to Tarn had been too dangerous to allow. No matter how hurt Tarn was now, Megatron would iron it out of him eventually. 

The corpse wasn't grey. Or at least, not entirely. Megatron took a moment to walk over, just to see if it was the angle, or perhaps the lighting.

But it wasn't a trick. The hole from the cannon blast was perfectly circular, and it had vaporised the entire sparkchamber. But along the edges, clinging desperately, was a fading flicker of blue, laced with turquoise-green.

Megatron leaned down to inspect the struggling remnant, considering it to be the source of the last, fading streaks of color in Pharma's plating. Slowly, he pressed his palm over it, until the light, shivering and flickering, trying to slip through his fingers, suffocated in his palm, away from the frame. Only when Pharma was dark grey did Megatron finally turn his back and board the ship.

Loose endings could lose you everything, and he had plenty more to tie up before this was all over.

 


	13. ALTERNATE ENDING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Ending for ur heart

“Tarn, let’s just go. Let’s run. Please.” Pharma was two seconds from taking off, turbine whining as he was frozen like a deer in headlights, trying to reach out and not touch Tarn at the same time. He could see Megatron’s claws dig into his love, ripping him away, and desperation became full-blown fear. 

“See? See how he’s trying to convince you to become a traitor? There’s no question about this, Tarn. Do as I say. Or you will no longer have a place at my side.”

Megatron stood up and took two steps back, on the ramp once more, waiting.

 

“Traitor?” Tarn spoke softly. “I am no traitor.”

He looked up slowly. Had he not been loyal always? Had he not been faithful to the end, and then beyond that? What else could Tarn do? What more could Tarn sell from himself before his lord was pleased? He’d allowed Starscream his indulgences for millennia. All his others, all less loyal and less devoted, had been allowed to carry their desires around. Why was Tarn the only one who could not?

His moods had always been quick to shift. The more Tarn thought, the faster his desperation transformed into anger. Why, he demanded. Why could he not be allowed this? He wanted Pharma and he had him, so close, so dear, and his lord wasn’t  _ listening _ . The hot fires of injustice flared through him, incensed him, and Tarn was suddenly struck by how  _ unfair _ this was.

He stood slowly. When Tarn looked up, some of his anger sparked in his gaze.

“Yours is not the only one,” he said, and for the first time, Tarn bared his denta at his lord. “ **If you refuse me, then I refuse** **_you_ ** !”

His power could be turned on anyone he chose. Even Megatron. It was then that Megatron felt the stabbing agony of his protege’s power lance through his spark, seeking to hurt and debilitate. All of it, for the sake of one medic that nobody had wanted. Until now.

 

Megatron’s optics went from grim to surprised and his stance buckled under the power of Tarn’s gift. One black servo went to clutch his chestplate, vents heaving as Tarn sent his spark into painful spasms.

Never in his life had Megatron allowed Tarn to use this gift on him. It was too powerful to be allowed out of control, and yet here was Tarn, rapidly spinning out of Megatron’s grasp.

“You...dare...?” he gasped out, his other hand gripping the side of the ship.

Pharma was a beautiful, frozen statue right now. No matter what he’d dreamed up for himself and Tarn, no matter what mad fantasy he’d indulged in, never had he thought it possible that Tarn would defy his beloved lord and master. For  _ him _ .

Joy, pure and simple, fluttered in his spark. As close as he was to Tarn, he came closer, moulding himself to the mech’s frame. 

“What are you doing?” he whispered, awed and alarmed in one.

 

“ **Stay down** ,” Tarn said, adding insult to injury. He looked to Pharma, who seemed stunned, and pushed him to get him moving. “We’re running,” Tarn said and pushed Pharma again.

He had to think quickly. Where would Pharma be safest?

The Autobots? He was unknown by them for now, so he could possibly find safe harbor in their midst. But Tarn was loathe to let him go, so he added, “Transform and follow me,” before doing just that. He transformed quickly, aiming to move away from the Tyranny before anyone could think to check up on their lord.

His helm was spinning. He’d just defied Megatron. Tarn tried to shove it away, to think about for later. For now, Tarn would run away from both the Autobots and the Decepticons, to the only place they could go and hope to hide - the Cybertronian wilderness.

 

Pharma only responded once Megatron crashed to his knees, as commanded by his former protege’s voice.

“T-Taarn...” he growled, hand reaching out to stop his weapon from departing. Maybe he ought to have allowed him the toy and put a leash on it too.

Pharma unfroze and transformed, following his lover with graceful ease, all whilst his field broadcasted bewildered joy and amazement.

“Where are we going?”

 

“Away,” Tarn said, speeding to put some distance between himself and the Tyranny. He could think about leaving behind his tracks later, once they were out of the danger zone. Suddenly, the ship’s stripped weapons were a boon to them now. This way, the Tyranny could not simply shoot them into matching grease stains.

“Wilderness,” he said, swinging his cannon to point, “we figure out things after we’re out. For now - fly.”

They needed to put at least an hour between them and everyone else. Perhaps go underground, so they could not be tracked. Tarn hoped Megatron might just fly rather than hunt them down while the Autobots were still crawling around.

 

Tarn was lucky that he was right. The Tyranny, alongside seven other ships, rose from Cybertron’s surface moments later and disappeared into the sky. Tarn was now what he would once upon a time hunt; a traitor to his Cause. A traitor to Megatron.

Pharma could sparse believe it. Tarn had really...chosen him. Over Megatron, over the Decepticons! If he could, he would cling to him now, kiss him, promise him everything would work out because he’d freed himself. But they had to escape first, so he stayed airborne.

 

Tarn refused to stop even as the ships disappeared - just because they were gone now did not mean they could not come back, or that the Autobots were done. Better safe and sorry. Being that he’d been Megatron’s prime hunter for these jobs, he knew what he was talking about.

It was only after a hard slog deep into the wilderness that he relented and transformed. Tarn was dusty and mud caked his treads. He vented harshly as he looked back. His sensors said there was nothing, but those things could not be trusted. Better to keep moving, keep going…

Tarn sat down heavily.

He did it. He - he abandoned the Decepticons. In a flare of temper and jealousy, Tarn had defied his lord and ran away with his… his something. There was no going back - Megatron didn’t do second chances.

Not unless you were Starscream or Overlord, Tarn recalled with a pang of resentment. This had all been so…  _ unnecessary _ . All he wanted had been Pharma, nothing more.

 

The object of his desires landed beside him, dusty and winded after the hard flight on small amounts of fuel. He couldn’t really keep himself from climbing into Tarn’s lap immediately, clawing off the mask and pulling his beloved into a hard, passionate kiss.

When he relented, he leaned their helms together and took a shaky vent.

“I love you so much right now.”

 

Tarn tensed up when Pharma suddenly scrambled for him, but immediately relaxed once he realized what was going to happen. “I did it for you,” Tarn said after a few seconds, just holding Pharma. It was true - he’d defied Megatron for Pharma. He made himself what he hated for the sake of this mech sitting in his lap.

“I told you,” Tarn said, putting a servo over Pharma’s, “I won’t leave you.”

Where this left them, however, was the bigger question. There were a million other things to worry about but for now, Tarn just let himself enjoy holding Pharma while knowing he was safe. Away from everyone else, just with him.

Pharma kissed him again, kissed each side of his face, his brow, his nose. There were few words for how liberating it felt to know he was worth so much to Tarn. Tarn, who had thrown away the meaning of his life for him. Finally...finally Pharma knew that someone could love him. Someone did love him. And it was Tarn, whom he had done unspeakable things to, whom had done unspeakable things to him. Their love made no sense, and it shouldn’t exist, yet here they were.

“We’ll get off the planet another way. And we’ll go somewhere, I don’t care what we do, I don’t care who we have to kill. I just need to be with you.”

 

“Good,” Tarn rumbled, largely because he himself wasn’t sure how they were getting  _ anywhere _ . But for now, he petted Pharma and kissed him until he relaxed enough to sleep. They had a stressful day, so Tarn could not blame him. He envied him, however, for such quick rest.

His would not come. No amount of holding Pharma and listening to his pulsing spark could allow Tarn enough respite to recharge. He argued with himself before reluctantly pulling out a phone from his sub-space.

It had a two-way call system, so Tarn could contact Megatron if he desired. He rarely did, out of a desire to not bother him (and so he could receive the calls himself instead). Now, however… his thumb hovered over the call button, wondering if this was the right thing to do at all.

He laid a servo on Pharma. Through him, Tarn regained some of the strength that’d allowed him to have the will to stand up to Megatron. Feeling his warm, humming body, Tarn called his lord.

_ ::My lord.:: _ Tarn did not bother with his usual bravado. His tone was lighter, gentler than what he usually used. He had no room for masks here. He kept himself simple, tried to be plain. Wordplay would get him no ground here after what he’d done.  _ ::I am still loyal.:: _

 

_ ::Is that what you call it?:: _

Megatron was neutral on the other end, but the fact that he’d picked up the phone at all proved that not all ties might have been severed. The hours that separated them from the incident had given Megatron time to cool off and think.

_ ::He was an Autobot, wasn’t he? When you met.:: _

 

Tarn was briefly thrown off by the question. He expected something else - a demand to know what Tarn was thinking, maybe - rather than a question of Pharma’s allegiances. He still answered.  _ ::He was.:: _

Not anymore, though. It was one of Tarn’s personal prides, knowing that it was  _ him _ who ultimately pulled Pharma out of that toxic environment.  _ ::He is no longer. I would not have him if he was.:: _

 

_ ::It seems to me he is the one who has you.:: _

Megatron didn’t pry further than that. He knew there were a few encounters with Autobots in the DJD’s records, and if he combed through them he might even find where Tarn had found his little viper, but for now and the future, it didn’t matter.

_ ::You understand that I am very disappointed in you, Tarn. You left me for an aesthetically pleasing interfacing toy.:: _

 

_ ::Don’t call him that. His name is Pharma.:: _ Tarn glanced down at the medic sleeping on his chest. He looked sweet like this, when his face relaxed enough to let go of the unconscious stress lines that accumulated during the day. Tarn smoothed his brow, unexpectedly tender. Pharma would be warm like this, curled up against him, and protected. Always.

_ ::I love him.:: _ It was simply put and the more Tarn confronted it, the less he struggled with it. Still, saying it to Megatron felt unexpectedly awkward, like he was confessing a dirty secret.  _ ::You made me leave.:: _

He managed to sound a little accusing, a little betrayed. After all - it had been Megatron’s order that pushed Tarn this far, hadn’t it?

 

Silence greeted him for a couple of seconds. Megatron struggled with the notion. He’d designed Tarn for war. To feel nothing but satisfaction when fulfilling orders. To worship the Cause and Megatron, and not lose a moment when killing someone deemed an enemy or a traitor. He’d made Tarn, every ounce of him, incapable of emotion beyond control.

And yet.

Somehow, somewhen, this little medic had slipped through the cracks and into his weapon, his protege.

Some part of Megatron raged. A smaller one was proud. Prison had given him time to reflect, and he’d decided to change a few things, but apparently, not all of his mistakes required guidance to change.

So it wasn’t just a simple case of seduction. In order for Tarn to build up this much, to have feelings this intense...it had to be mnemosurgery or real.

_ ::I made you make a choice. You chose your own desires over the Cause.:: _

 

_ ::Must I always choose? Can I not have both in conjunction?:: _

Tarn was getting dangerously close to argumentative again, but he was too tired to care this time. He’d already done enough that there really was nothing but down to go from here.

_ ::He denounced the Autobots for my sake.:: _ And that was what mattered. Pharma was no longer against them and could be turned to them. What more was necessary? As long as Tarn could police his behavior, he would never slip.

_ ::He left it behind. I persuaded him.::  _ To say that Tarn had effectively snapped him unwillingly out his gilded cage felt a little gauche for the conversation. The end achievement was the same.

 

_ ::Can you be sure of that?:: _

Megatron wondered if any Autobot could genuinely stop preaching their morality and see reason. He certainly had met a few examples to prove the contrary, one name prominent among them despite some intimate encounters.

_ ::Can you be sure he won’t betray you for some conceited cause? That he won’t turn on you because he doesn’t approve of what you do, or the methods you use?:: _

 

_ ::I freed him from that. He cared, once. Not anymore.::  _ That had been broken out of Pharma, leaving just enough space for Tarn to squeeze in instead.  _ ::I taught him better.:: _

He stroked Pharma’s slumbering face. He did not fear Pharma turning on him - not after what lead to this. What else could be done after murder? He did not think Pharma would go past that line again - and if he did, he would simply bring him back.

_ ::I did not tell you,:: _ Tarn added, sounding a little awed,  _ ::he was the one who killed me. He brought me back to life after that. After such a thing… I am not worried.:: _

 

_ ::He...killed you. And you love him still?:: _

That was a potent amount of emotion, regardless of the impossibility seemingly conquered by the mech in question. Megatron was growing uncomfortable with how familiar this all sounded. He had taught Tarn too much of himself, without realizing it at all. What could he say to disapprove of such dedication? To confront his own shortcomings...he wasn’t ready for it.

 

_ ::It’s how this started.::  _ Tarn shifted Pharma to a more comfortable position and sighed. Night was falling, bringing the sky to cherry and marigold hues. He wondered where Megatron might be in the cosmos. Still in orbit, or far out?

_ ::It was a clever tactic that I can only admire in hindsight. And he brought me back - that is what matters.:: _

Yet, Tarn could admire Pharma later. Now,  something more pressing was at hand.  _ ::Will you allow me back into your service, my lord?: : _

 

_ ::Not yet.:: _

Megatron would have to give himself ample time to consider how he’d leash this new, free Tarn. This Tarn that could become, in the worst case, like Overlord. If he recalled correctly, Overlord too had a skinny little mech as a background to his defiance, though love was never on the table there.

_ ::You need to prove yourself worthy, after what you did. Find yourself a new crew. For the Cause. Reassemble what force you have given up or lost. Prove yourself to me as capable, even if love has given you...reason to stand against me. Prove you will not do so again.:: _

 

_ ::I understand, my lord.:: _

It was hefty task presented to him, but one he could do something about. Tarn did not turn away from a challenge. His helm bowed as he realized what he needed to do - find a ship. Recruit. Continue his mission… and prove loyal to Megatron once again.

He said nothing about hurting Pharma, which pleased Tarn. And yet…

_ ::Pharma will be part of my crew.:: _ It was only reasonable after what he gave up for his sake. Would Megatron deny him a second time?

 

_ ::So it would seem. Try not to let him become the weakness in you.:: _

Megatron knew better than to deny Tarn a second time. He wasn't in the business of giving up weapons of great power, and Tarn classified as one of them.

_ ::As long as you can remain professional. I don't ever wish to see the insubordination you displayed today again.:: _

 

_ ::Never, my lord. Thank you for your generosity - I shall not disappoint you.:: _

The call ended with a  _ click _ and Tarn released a sigh he hadn’t known he had been holding all day. Suddenly, things seemed to lighten and the world grew just a bit more easier to navigate. A knot in his chest loosened and Tarn felt… at ease. The phone went back into his subspace and he stared up, petting Pharma and marvelling at getting a second chance from Megatron.

It wasn’t something that was commonly given. Tarn would not disappoint him.


End file.
